Lonely Light of the Silver Moon
by seaecho
Summary: It started with a walk along the beach at night, an encounter with a mysterious stranger whose intentions were unclear, and now Leslie's life would never be the same. And then another man enters her life... Mike, Peter and OFC. Peter is more like the real life Peter. Slash warning, sexual situations and some language.
1. Chapter 1

This was when the magic began. At sunset on Malibu beach. She stood at the edge of the water, studying the oranges, pinks and yellows of the sky as the weary sun lowered steadily, drowsily dipping below the horizon on its way to slumber.

She took a deep breath and let it cast its spell. Her bare toes flexed and clenched the gritty, yet soft, feel of the wet sand as the gentle breeze lifted and played with her waist length blond hair, causing soft strands of it to dance around her freely. It was chilly-it was only spring yet. Even in summer though, the beach cooled down quite a bit as night approached. This was the time of day she lived for. It was the only time she felt true freedom and serenity. Sunset, then twilight-ensured night, with its magic, would follow.

The year was 1966, and Leslie felt more than thrilled in the fact that she'd been able to rent a small house here, so close to the beach. She'd always been drawn to the ocean. She loved the sea-it must have been in her blood, as her mother had harbored that same love for the sun, the sand, the shells, and the sound of the waves, especially at night. They lulled Leslie to sleep with their quiet, steady monotony, a gentle promise that the sea would be her guardian. There was a peace in that.

She was solitary. She'd lost a lot in life, and even more of her faith in things...well, mainly, in people. They had lied to her, stabbed her in the back, abandoned her, even left her in death. She knew it was no reason to feel sorry for herself. No one is immune to tough times. But just the same she had decided to embrace a solitary life. To guard against more of that hurt. One can only be so solitary-it was all relative. But even if she had to face people during the day, she could always look forward to the night... and the anticipation always began moments before sunset.

Leslie was 29, and she knew that most young women her age were either married, or close to it. She had no prospects, and wanted none. She told herself she could do without men. They only hurt you, cheated on you, took from you, abused you. She'd always been attracted to the "bad boy" types, but now that she was gaining some maturity, she realized she'd only sabotaged herself. She'd had choices-plenty of them, and still had made the wrong ones. And sometimes she feared the damage had been done and she was already jaded.

Was there such a thing as finding a kindred spirit anymore, as her grandmother would have put it? She wouldn't allow guys access to her-she didn't even date anymore. She couldn't deny that she felt vague yearnings; often they were a hell of a lot more pressing than vague. She did want that special someone to spend her life with, but she shrank away from opening her heart long enough to be hurt again. And she was so tired, for one reason or another, of having to say goodbye.

So Leslie was drifting, day by day and moment by moment. She didn't have a job, didn't need one. Her parents' death had resulted in enough of an inheritance that she didn't have to worry about working. Not if she lived simply. She had no need for fancy things anyway. But that was detrimental in some ways because it gave her so much free time to think...damn _too _much time to think about her lack of satisfaction and fulfillment in life. So she had been volunteering at a homeless shelter for the last few months. It gave her a satisfied feeling inside, knowing she was doing something charitable for those less fortunate than herself-but there was still no denying that an enormous, gaping hole remained, and she wasn't sure how she was going to fill it.

_Yes, she was lonely._ It had taken a very long time to admit that to herself. She turned her head to the moon. She spent a lot of time looking at it-almost as much as the ocean. It seemed to weep softly with loneliness too. Far away and untouchable. She felt an affinity with it. When it was full she felt some unnamed and untamed longing that tugged at her as surely as the moon influenced the tide.

_Restless yearning. _If there were any way to describe how she felt, that would be it.

Leslie walked along the beach slowly and aimlessly as the twilight melted into night, as smoothly as dawn would transition into daylight.

She walked until midnight-nearly four hours, although it didn't seem nearly that long; restoring herself with the moon's gentle glow and the sea's ebb and flow. She never wanted to go home after her walks, as her bed was empty and cold around the edges, and complex emotions crept in. Emotions she would not have been able to explain had someone asked.

As Leslie entered her little cottage, she smiled at the orchids she loved to grow on the windowsill and in various spots that were sunny by day, around the living room. They always cheered her. A few were preparing to bloom. Mostly yellows and pinks. Later on she might get some purples and reds, even some speckled browns.

She only had one bedroom-it was all she needed. Add the kitchen and bathroom, a small laundry room, and that made her home. It was plenty for her. She had a big window out of which she could view the ocean whenever she pleased, which was often.

She fixed herself a mug of hot coffee with plenty of cream and sugar, and sat on the couch, sipping it, pulling her feet up and underneath her, contemplating the ocean only 50 yards beyond.

She was a dreamer, and that could lead a person into trouble. Dreamers tended to expect a bit too much. In her case, it was romance. Reality had never agreed with her much, and she shrunk from it as much as possible. She preferred to imagine how things might have been different had she not been so foolish. Had she chosen her friends, and especially men, more carefully.

She had always fallen for the handsome, irresistible men who were too aware of their appeal. They always seemed to end up having at least half a dozen other girlfriends, and she had always found this out after she'd fallen for them. In truth, they had only visited her when it was convenient for _them._ She had been just a plaything. She could see it all too clearly now, but at the time she'd been naïve enough to think she was the only one. That she had really mattered to them. She should have realized that wasn't the case when they rarely took her out to dinner, or anywhere really, instead wanting to do little else but have sex with her. There were never any little love notes or cards, no flowers. No sweet gestures.

If only she could have seen it from the outside in. But she was too close to it, wanted it too much. She'd been blindsided every time, never learning not to be gullible. It had happened one too many times, and now she felt sure she had no more trust to give.

That night, by the time Leslie finally fell asleep at 2:30 am, she dreamed of a tall, dark handsome stranger. She wanted to be near him, but he kept drawing away. He was always just out of reach. Not in an obvious way, but still unattainable. She strained to reach him as if everything depended on it, but there seemed to be hidden restraints.

When late afternoon finally arrived the next day, it found Leslie at the shore, her toes sinking eagerly into the sand with abandon. Sunset was very near, and people had gone back to their homes, once again making the beach hers alone. There were some lavender hues in the sunset tonight. Every sunset was just a little different –each had its own mystique. As twilight set in, and then, slowly, darkness, Leslie was in her element once again.

_Freedom._

Her spirits lifted and she felt she could dream freely, with none of the accompanying commotion and disorder of daylight. Night was unassuming and unobtrusive. Like a night creature who roams after dark, Leslie never gave much thought to the possibility of meeting up with some ill intentioned character.

So she was taken aback rather abruptly when she spied a figure not far away. At first she thought it was a figment of her imagination, an elusive vision, or that perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her. But as she watched, she saw that it was obviously a man standing at the edge of the water, looking out on the ocean, just as she so often did. A tall man, six feet or maybe a little more, and something about his stance caught her scrutiny. There was a plaintive air about the way he stood there, not moving much, and with his hands loosely clasped behind him, at the small of his back.

She stood there silently and stock still, hoping he wouldn't notice her. She wondered if she could outrun him. It was possible. She was a fast runner, and she would have an approximate 75 foot head start. But she wasn't overly worried about it, as his posture seemed to convey apathy. And apathy usually doesn't run like the wind.

She wondered what he was doing out here. He might have driven to the beach, but people don't usually do that after dark, except possibly with a lover. But not alone—not as a general rule. It was much more likely he lived nearby. In the many months she'd been coming out here at night she'd had yet to run across anyone except the very occasional couple, which, of course, she steered clear of.

She decided not to head home just yet. Besides, he might see her if she moved. That's what she told herself—but in reality, he held her interest. She was curious about him and his motives for being here. She felt a little protective of "her" beach, but reminded herself that there was no law keeping other people from using it too—and that included at night.

He had a lanky body, long legs, and, even though the moon was only half full, Leslie could tell he had dark hair, and she thought she saw wide sideburns too, but couldn't be certain from this distance. He wore boots—strange footwear for the beach.

After what seemed a very long time, but was in actuality only fifteen or twenty minutes, he began walking slowly in the opposite direction. Leslie sighed in relief. If he'd headed in her direction, he surely would have seen her. She felt more than a bit spooked, and decided to go home just in case he should decide to change directions and head back her way.

It was silly, but she felt infringed upon. As though he'd violated her somehow—trespassed on her territory. But a public beach was just that—public. He had as much right to be out there at night, or any other time, as she had.

The next day Leslie got up early, having nearly forgotten about the mystic man of the night before. Oh, he was there in the back of her mind, but she dismissed it when the thought of him popped up. In the light of day, the thought of him didn't seem so threatening. She did her usual errands in her older, yet usually reliable little car. She stopped by the library, being an avid reader, then it was the grocery store , then to the post office to mail a few bills. When she got home, she took a nap. It would enable her to stay up later for her beach walk. _What a life I have,_ she thought. Her high point of the day was walking on the beach at night. But, at the same time, she realized, a lot of people didn't have that privilege and she knew she should count her blessings.

The moon was becoming fuller every night. Just two nights later, it was easier to see sharp shells and avoid stepping on them, but it also illuminated her more, and she could have done without that. She wanted to be left alone with her thoughts and dreams. Sometimes she felt just a touch vulnerable, although generally not, as the sea had a calming effect on her.

A half hour after the sun set, Leslie strolled along like a vagrant, letting the water slosh over her feet and wondering idly what most people would be doing this time of night. Parked in front of the television or reading a book, or maybe making love. Going out on a date to the drive-in movie, stopping by a fast food place afterward. Not having a boyfriend had its negatives, but added up to more positives when she actually tallied it. She didn't have to answer to anyone this way—could be who she was without trying to alter her basic personality to make someone else happy. Could do _what _she wanted, _when _she wanted. Didn't have to consult anyone. Or cater to their bad moods.

She was lost in these thoughts when she felt the hair on her arms suddenly prickle and stand straight up. She had goose bumps too. That was a foreign sensation. She wasn't cold, but she definitely had the creeps. And right out of the blue like that. Trusting her intuition, she looked around cautiously.

_There he was._

The man she'd almost forgotten about. The man she'd seen only a few nights ago. This time he was closer—barely 30 feet away. This time she knew she was in immediate danger of being spotted by him. Not knowing what else to do, she froze in her tracks. He was looking out at the sea again, as he had been before, but at any moment he could turn his head toward her direction and see her.

She pretended to look out at sea too, surreptitiously eyeing him out of the corner of her eye. If he saw her, she certainly didn't want him to see her l_ooking _at him. Anything could happen… he could chase her down and rape her, or worse, rape, torture _and kill her._ No one would ever know, as they were the only ones out there, and the sound of the waves might well drown out her screams.

_Oh my God, why didn't I realize this might happen again?_ She chastised herself inwardly. What a stupid move! She'd been too complacent in assuming she'd never run across him again. In fact, she'd never really seriously considered it. Now, because of her carelessness, she'd put herself smack in the middle of a clear and present danger. He could overpower her in a second. She weighed all of 115 pounds. He sent out a robust, compelling vibe. Apathetic or not, he had a _presence _that she could feel even from here. He seemed to emit a quiet power. Contemplative and melancholy, maybe, but also commanding. How did she get all this from a mysterious man, alone on the beach?

She just about jumped out of her skin when a voice suddenly came out of the night.

"You shouldn't be on the beach alone at night." A distinctively southern accent. A slow, lazy drawl. Almost certainly Texas in origin. He hadn't even turned his head in her direction. Somehow that made it even more creepy.

_Oh my God…_

Without a second thought, and acting purely on instinct, she turned and sprinted into action, running as fast as her feet would carry her. Panic was infiltrating her with each frantic stride. She imagined him close behind, chasing her, and this only added to her terror. She initially headed toward her house, but realized that if he were watching her, assuming he could still see her in the dark at that distance, that she shouldn't go directly to it. So she made a very wide circle and entered from the back, which would be blocked from his view. She dared a quick glance behind her and felt dizzy with relief when she realized he was not in pursuit.

Walking into the house, she didn't turn the lights on right away, and made sure both front and back doors were locked. The house was situated a full half a mile from where she'd encountered him, but still she wanted to take no chances. She lived alone, and it wouldn't take much for him to discover that. Her house wasn't in close proximity to others so she was fairly isolated, which made this scenario even scarier. She suddenly wished she owned a large, protective dog.

Her heart pounded in her ears and her breath came in gasps from the exertion and the fear. She shook, vibrating from the inside out. This man could be _anyone,_ capable of _anything, _and she'd run across him twice in just a few days' time. In the dark, and alone. A warning bell went off loud and clear in her head. She _must not_ let this happen again. She had to be more careful.

For the next three nights, Leslie did not venture to the beach. She was too afraid of what might happen. Even if he were completely harmless, it was way too risky to chance it. As a result, she felt like a prisoner in her home.

Mike was worried sick when she didn't show up for three nights running. What if something had happened to her? What if someone _had,_ in fact, attacked her? He almost felt as if he knew her, after watching her these last few months, and her sudden absence ate away at him. He hoped she showed up soon, because he didn't know how to find her, and the trepidation of not knowing was really getting to him. He'd not watched where she'd gone at night after her walks out of respect for her privacy.

By the fourth day, Leslie realized that forfeiting her walks on the beach was not an option. For some reason, this bright, new day brought her courage. After mulling it over for a while, she no longer felt fear, but instead resentment and anger. Who did he think he was, approaching her on a dark beach? Intruding on her privacy? Scaring her like that? She now refused to give up her nightly walks. They were a staple in her life, and too important to give up. She was upset with herself for ever feeling like she _had_ to give it up. She wouldn't. She had to come up with a plan…

It was simple, really. She would just start walking in another area, away from where she usually walked. That would solve the problem, and that guy could also have his privacy. Everyone would be happy.

First she had to decide where she would walk, and it was on her mind later when she put in some volunteer time at the homeless shelter, serving food. She did whatever needed doing, whether it was distributing blankets, clothing, food or merely being there for someone who wanted to talk. The local homeless people who were regulars knew her and were always glad to see her. Many were amazingly cheerful, even though life was tough for them. Others were often grumpy, and many were sad and depressed. Each required different approaches, but hey, she was good at it. Communicating came naturally to her. She was proud of herself for helping out—for doing some good, however trivial it might seem. She wanted to take them all home, but also knew that wasn't possible, and so she just did what she could when she could.

Mike felt terrible, positively rotten. He'd scared her badly. So badly that she'd run as if a demon were after her. That hadn't been his intention at all. He'd only wanted to warn her. He felt like kicking himself now. It was just that a beautiful young girl like her should not be wandering on the beach alone at night. It was only a matter of time before some unsavory character victimized her. And he just hadn't been able to remain silent about it any longer. He hadn't approached her really. He hadn't even looked in her direction. He'd tried to be as nonthreatening as possible. But he'd felt he had to warn her. And look at what had happened…

But what could he do? People had told him he could look intimidating. So common sense said he wouldn't appear particularly benign to her either. And the fact that he didn't smile a whole lot just made it worse. Now he knew for sure that she clearly saw him as a threat—precisely what he had wanted to warn her about. Predators. But how was she to know he _wasn't_ one? And why did he even think she'd listen to him?

He'd been watching her from afar for months, never getting close because of the fear of what had now actually happened. He couldn't be out there on the beach every night, hovering around, making sure she wasn't attacked. Yet, he'd found himself doing something close to just that. As often as he could, he would escape the Pad, then find her, and stay in the background and watch for possible victimizers.

He'd never forget the first time he'd seen her. Her form against the background of the ocean had nearly taken his breath away. Her long hair, having a gossamer look as it fanned around her in the breeze. Her slender body, feminine curves. She looked more like an angel to him than anything else. He'd actually wondered at first if she were an apparition. But no… after he'd seen her for the second and third time, he knew she was real. It wasn't just wishful thinking.

Just about every time he'd hit the beach at night she'd been there, so he knew she had to live in the general neighborhood. And apparently made a nightly habit of this. He had come out onto the beach himself when he felt the need to get away from his roommates, or when he just wanted to be alone to think. Maybe ponder some woman, or do some philosophical thinking. Mike had always been a thinker. Sharing a room with Micky wasn't exactly the most peaceful, quiet existence. Micky was a great guy, as were all his roommates, but sometimes Mike just needed some quiet time, and the others knew this. So they never questioned his frequent moonlit walks. He'd kept his discovery a secret.

Finishing up her talk with Mrs. Marston at the homeless shelter, Leslie realized it was time to go home. Mrs. Marston was in her late 50s, with very little family left, and she and her daughter lived at the shelter. Leslie always looked forward to seeing her, as Mrs. Marston adored Leslie, eyes glittering when she saw her. And Mrs. Marston always had interesting things to say, as well as being fascinated with Leslie's various points of view on life. So they made a habit of talking for at least an hour every time Leslie came to the shelter. More often, it was two hours. Mrs. Marston would talk of the "old days" and her happy childhood. Leslie often wondered how Mrs. Marston and her daughter had come to be homeless, but she felt it wasn't her place to ask. When Mrs. Marston was ready, she would tell her.

It amazed Leslie how much of an effort Mrs. Marston put into looking decent. Combing her hair, putting on make up from her quickly dwindling supply, and making sure her clothes were always clean and mended, if not varied. Leslie had tried to buy her little gifts, but Mrs. Marston insisted that Leslie's company was more than enough. So Leslie would sit and eat lunch with her and her daughter. Her daughter, Veronica, was in her 30s, and very shy, and, Leslie suspected, somewhat challenged. Veronica didn't talk much, but she did seem to listen to and enjoy the interaction between her mother and Leslie.

Now that the day was over, Leslie looked forward to going home, eating dinner, then going for her beach walk. _Damn!_ She'd forgotten about that pesky man! She would just have to take her car and go to a different area of the beach if she didn't want to have to worry about him appearing. What a nuisance. She felt annoyed and irritated at the inconvenience. But it was the only way she was going to get to see her sunset and have her walk, and she _was not_ giving that up for anyone!

Hopping into her little car, she picked a place about a mile from home. She realized she probably should have gone a little farther, but she doubted he would walk that far. Both times she'd seen him, he'd been in roughly the same 150 yard radius.

Mike had seen her get into her car. He'd seen the area she'd come from too, and now had a pretty good idea of approximately where she lived. This behavior was so atypical of him. God, he felt like a stalker! He wondered where she was going, and then it occurred to him that she might be planning on walking in a different area to avoid him. Mike was bright—a very quick thinker, and he'd been thinking about it for the last three days. His long legs carried him quickly behind her. She was driving very slowly, so he had no trouble keeping her taillights in sight. It was quite a walk—somewhere close to a mile, but at last he saw her pulling into a parking space and getting out.

Again he thought to himself about how foolish she was being. Not only was she going to be out alone again after dark on the beach, but she hadn't even bothered to venture that far from where she'd seen him the last time.

He let her enjoy her sunset, then when twilight had almost turned to darkness, he made his move. This might be his last chance if she decided to start walking miles away, or another beach altogether. It was now or never…

He approached her as casually as he was able to considering he was a tall, imposing man, and she a petite woman, in near darkness. A complete stranger to her. He knew how she'd react—exactly as she had a few days ago.

"I thought I warned you about being out here alone at night," he said softly, trying his best to sound nonthreatening. He saw and heard her gasp, saw her eyes widen in the dim light of a nearly full moon, seeing and realizing briefly that she was a bit older than he'd thought. He was closer physically to her than he'd ever been—barely 10 feet away.

As he knew she would, she turned on her heel and took flight. Seeing no alternative, he ran after her.

Leslie was more afraid than she had ever been in her life. This probably crazy man out here on the beach, pursuing her in the dark. And he was closing in fast…


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, running after her only made matters worse, thought Mike. _Damn,she was fast._ But then, part of it was probably pure adrenaline, fearing that if he caught up to her, something unspeakable would happen. He _hated _himself for this. For terrifying her. But how else was he going to be able to talk to her? Get her to listen to him? There just wasn't any other way.

Still she must feel like some small animal that had a hungry wolf hot on its tail. And no chance of getting away. Should he just run her down until she dropped from exhaustion? Or should he try to take her down gently in the sand? Good thing they weren't on concrete!

Leslie was running for all she was worth, but it wasn't enough. He was immediately behind her. He had those long legs that covered a lot of ground. And he was a man—they were almost without exception, faster than women.

She couldn't hear anything for the roaring in her ears, the blood thumping through her veins like a galloping horse. Her heart couldn't possibly beat any faster. _This is it,_ she thought. He's going to catch me, and God help me when he does. A feeling of unreality swept over her. She tried to wrench out a last burst of speed, imagining she could feel his breath on her neck—he was that close.

_If he was that close, why didn't he just reach out and grab her?_ The thought was snatched away as she hit a slight depression in the uneven sand. That was all took. There was no time to regain her balance, as she was moving so fast. It pitched her forward, and that was when she knew she was falling…

Just as Mike was deliberating over that last thought, she tripped and fell headlong. He nearly ran over her. Barely missing her, he realized he didn't want to run past her either. That would give her a chance to get up and start running again. So he simply dropped his body down on the sand, the velocity causing him to slide several feet—landing right beside her.

Immediately she tried to leap to her feet, but Mike was too quick for her. He grabbed her arm nearest him. She lashed out at him with her other hand. He caught it with his opposite hand, barely avoiding a hard blow to the face.

"Get away from me!" But she was breathing so hard from running that her voice was barely louder than a whisper. Her chest heaved and she dragged great gulps of air into her lungs, and still felt starved for oxygen. He saw it all on her face.

"Hey, look… I'm not trying to hurt you or… anything. I just want to talk to you." Mike was a little out of breath himself, but he didn't have fear compounding it like she did. Guilt clawed at him.

As she gasped for breath, it gave him an opening. He grabbed it. "I've seen you on the beach alone at night… for months. And I've been worried… you'd get attacked…or something." He didn't want to utter the word "rape" for fear it would panic her even more.

She was still struggling to break loose, although he could tell she was listening to him, her intelligent green eyes glued to his face. She was probably about his age, he thought. All this time he'd thought she was younger—somewhere between nineteen and twenty-one. She was certainly old enough to know better.

"Do you know what could happen to you…out here? I've been keeping an eye out… for questionable men. So far you've been extremely fortunate. How long have you been coming out here at night?"

Leslie didn't answer, but her fear level was ever so slowly evening out, then lowering. Why hadn't he tried anything? He just held her arm calmly and continued to try to talk to her in a soft, soothing voice. His grip was not what she would have expected of a predator, either. It was a loose, yet secure hold of her wrist. But there was nothing rough about it. If he had bad intentions, wouldn't he have yanked her around to subdue her, covered her mouth with his hand, or thrown her back in the sand to do whatever he was planning on doing?

In the heat of the struggle to escape, she got a good look at him, even in spite of her near terror. He was handsome—his hair appeared either black, or very close to it. Longish—as was the style. His eyes were also very dark. What caught her notice the most, though, were his sideburns. She'd been right when she thought she'd detected them before. They were thick and wide, and she could tell he had a heavy beard, although he was clean shaven except for the sideburns.

When he'd grabbed onto her wrist, he'd leaned over her, and she'd smelled his aftershave. Very masculine and woodsy. She also smelled what she was pretty sure was deodorant, and soap, as if he'd had a shower very recently.

He wore a slight, almost mocking smile, and she got the feeling somehow that he wasn't free with his smiles. The thought arose that he might actually be trying to put her at ease. Appear less threatening. Of course, he could have been smirking. She couldn't tell, as his face was not the most readable she'd ever seen.

"Let me go!" she protested again as her breath began to come back to her.

"Look, man," he sighed. "I have no bad intentions. If I did, I would have … done something… by now."

_Exactly what her thoughts had been. _

"All I wanted was to warn you… And now I've done that…there's nothing more I can do. You'll do as you like, but I wish you'd think about it," and he let go of her wrist—just like that.

Leslie stared at him in disbelief. She thought briefly of springing to her feet and bolting, but what he'd said made a lot of sense. Not only had he not been rough, or tried anything, but he was now willingly turning her loose. With a slight look of defeat too, she noted. She got the feeling he knew she wouldn't heed his advice. Mission unaccomplished. He sighed again and sat back in the sand, his hands supporting him, regarding her thoughtfully. Hardly a man who looked as if he were ready to attack.

Still suspicious, but curiosity overriding it, She studied his face again. He looked somewhat resigned, weary, as if he'd known his attempts to warn her would be unsuccessful.

"When I spoke to you the other night… I was only showing concern. Chasing you tonight was unavoidable, since you didn't seem to… want to listen to me. But I would have avoided it if… I'd been able to think of another way to get across to you."

"You've been watching me…for months?" she asked in a small voice.

He chuckled- or maybe snickered. "Sounds like I'm a stalker, doesn't it? Well, you can ask any girl I've ever dated…or even just _known,_ and they'd assure you I'm not that type. So would my roommates, for that matter," he added as an afterthought.

She couldn't help it—she was becoming thoroughly intrigued. The questions just slipped out.

"How many roommates do you have?" she asked.

"Three. We're also good friends and bandmates."

"Bandmates? You're a musician?"

"Yes," he looked as if he felt uncomfortable revealing so much.

"Anyway, back to you. Do you always practice such… foolhardy methods of entertainment?"

"Walking along the beach? I've been doing it ever since I've lived here…. a while," Leslie said carefully. She didn't know him from Adam. Why volunteer information?

"Well, you're old enough to know better," he said, echoing his earlier thoughts.

"Why do you even _care_ if I walk around in the dark?" was her next question.

That one caught Mike unaware. He looked puzzled, as if he couldn't figure it out himself. She watched him turn it over in his mind.

"I'm not sure…. I guess I just don't want to see _any _woman get taken advantage of."

Okay, well, that was sensible.

She wondered how old he was. He was one of those people where age is not easy to judge. She imagined he was close to her age, or maybe a year or two younger.

"How old are you?" She'd blurted it out without even thinking. It was becoming obvious she was definitely the inquisitive type. And he was admittedly a novelty to her. No reason not to answer her, though.

"Twenty-four."

Her face registered surprise. He was younger than she'd thought.

"Now, I know it's not polite to ask a lady her age, but… can we make an exception, since you asked me?"

Leslie surprised herself by laughing out loud.

"I'm twenty-nine."

Mike looked taken aback. " Really? I thought you were younger—closer to my age," he said.

"And I thought you were older! Closer to _my_ age," was her answer. "Of course, one of the reasons for that is your maturity level. Your mannerisms and speech…" she was trying to explain so he wouldn't feel offended that she had thought he was older than he was.

"Well, there's really not _that _much difference… I mean, come on. Five years. From a distance you look even younger. Until tonight I thought you were barely out of your teens."

"Oh, flattery won't get you anywhere," she said, the edges of her lips turning up just a bit. This guy was fun to banter with. He was intelligent and quick witted.

But… she silently reprimanded herself severely—_she didn't know him! _Getting friendly with him could lead to….trouble of some kind. He might be an obsessive type, or a dominant type. He might be a criminal. Anything was possible, really.

"Look, I'd better go now. This is hardly appropriate—talking to a perfect stranger on the beach at night."

"Just exactly what I was trying to warn you about. You _should_ be cautious. Don't let this happen again."

Leslie wrinkled her brow. Did he mean with him, or another guy?

"Let this experience… and the terror you experienced … be a lesson to you." He got up then, brushed the sand from his pants, and Leslie watched him walk away without another word. _My God, he was odd!_

As she walked back toward her house—at an angle so he wouldn't see exactly where she went should he look back over his shoulder, she realized she didn't even know his name…

_Damn!_ Mike felt like slapping himself on the forehead. He hadn't asked what her name was! But on second thought, what did it matter, anyway? Chances are he wouldn't be seeing her again anyway—if she heeded his advice. That was good… that's what he wanted anyway, right? Something told him, though, that she would rebel, and end up on the beach at night again.

He wouldn't even admit it to _himself,_ but he'd been thinking about her too much these last months, before he'd finally summoned the courage to approach her. Was there something more there than just concern for her safety?

No… Mike couldn't afford to get hung up on any girl. It would really be a drag not being able to see her again under the moonlight, but his job was done. At least he _hoped _it was done. He'd watch for a while anyway, just to be sure she followed his suggestion that she stay inside.

He could hardly remember the last time he'd dated a girl. Way too long. Maybe close to a year—somewhere in that neighborhood. Relationships never seemed to work out for him. He'd had the occasional one night stand, but even those weren't frequent. It seemed that either a girl would be scared off by his intensity, or they didn't understand him. His quiet ways, his introspection. Girls seemed to prefer really exciting guys, flashy guys, or wild and kinky guys. No one seemed to like just regular guys like himself anymore. He supposed he was boring to women. He wasn't into wearing gaudy clothes, using handcuffs, blindfolds, or treating women like shit. Sometimes it seemed that women were attracted to those types. Or at the very least, "bad boys."

He was also shy. He had trouble walking up to a woman, or starting a conversation, much less asking one out on a date. Guys like Davy shined at it. Micky had almost as much luck as Davy. Peter had about as much luck as Mike, as he was also shy—even more shy than Mike. But girls were sometimes attracted to Peter's dimples and lustrous hair-that is, if they didn't see Davy first, so it almost always turned out that Mike got the least attention from women of the four of them.

He didn't like the complications relationships brought anyway. That's what he tried to tell himself anyway. Women were too touchy and too much work to figure out. He'd been hurt too. He'd had women suddenly stop seeing him because they'd found some rich dude, or one who would dance with them all night long. That was another thing Mike wasn't particularly good at. Dancing. So the cards were more or less stacked against him. With a ridiculously cute roommate, a very funny, entertaining one, and a sweet, sensitive dimpled one, Mike felt like he had nothing special to offer.

After not seeing her for several nights, it came to Mike that, even though he'd apparently been successful in keeping her off the beach, it also meant he couldn't feast his eyes on her anymore from the shadows. He told himself it was just lust—he appreciated a beautiful woman's body as much as the next man. And he'd just deprived himself of that. A really, really stupid move on his part. But, no, if it meant she would be safe, it was worth it.

He walked along the beach nightly, and twice he even went to the other spot where he'd last seen her, where he'd chased her and they'd sat in the sand and talked. But she was nowhere to be found.

Leslie was restless and annoyed. She paced her little house. She could no longer enjoy the high point of her day. Or rather, night. And all because of that man who thought he could boss her around. A man she didn't even know! _The bastard!_ The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. He'd chased her down, scaring her to death, had physically restrained her, scolded her, and then just gotten up and left, without so much as a goodbye. Who did he think he was? Why should she have to give up the pleasure of her beach walks? That was bullshit, and she didn't have to listen to him.

Friday and Saturday night they had a gig, so Mike couldn't check the beach. When they got home though, at 2am on Saturday, he was still keyed up, as he often was after a gig. He knew he wouldn't be able to get to sleep right away, so he decided to take a short walk.

Leslie had gone out to walk late—figuring the mysterious man would already be in bed by 1am. She had missed her sunset, which is what she was the most reluctant to give up. She'd been watching the sunsets out of her window, but it wasn't the same. But this was better than nothing.

_Until she saw him…_ and he saw her in the same instant. Mike felt instant relief. Well, relief wasn't really the word for it. He felt something that he couldn't identify. He realized with horror that he was actually pleased to see her.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" he asked, a little more gruffly than he'd intended.

"What a way to greet someone! And I can walk out here anytime I please."

"You should at least walk _with_ someone… not alone."

"And just who are you suggesting I walk with? There aren't a lot of takers that I can see."

_Are you kidding? _Mike thought to himself. He knew tons of guys who would give their right arm to walk with her. But they'd probably all try to take advantage of the situation too. Not him. He'd been raised to respect women. He didn't manipulate them or expect anything of them. Unless there was consent, he didn't lay a finger on them, or try to influence them to sleep with him either. A woman had to _want _him.

"Go back to your house," he said firmly.

"No."

"Want me to chase you again?" It sounded so funny that Leslie giggled in spite of herself, covering her mouth with her hand. Mike, not normally taken to giggle fits, had to stifle one himself.

"It won't work, even if you do," Leslie said. "I'm not afraid of you anymore."

Mike sighed, completely frustrated. "You shouldn't trust strangers! That's the trouble with you…"

"You didn't hurt me the other night… so I'm not afraid. You had the chance… and you didn't do anything."

She _did _have a point, he mused. If a man is going to assault a woman, he would do it fairly quickly. He certainly wouldn't turn her loose and then walk away, as Mike had done.

He looked at her sideways, trying not to be obvious. She was wearing a white sleeveless, very delicate looking blouse that was nearly sheer. Her knee length skirt was billowing around just a bit with the breeze, and it was a pale blue. Blue and white sandals completed her attire, and she looked deliciously spring-like and feminine. The breeze also told him she wore a light, flowery scent. He breathed it in deeply and realized he was becoming aroused. Oh no… that was the last thing he needed! He shifted uncomfortably.

"You shouldn't dress like that out here at night either."

"You can't see through it! I made sure of that! I have a mirror at home, you know."

She was right—he couldn't see through her blouse. But it sure piqued his imagination. Actually, she could probably wear sweats and he'd feel the same level of interest.

Softening a bit, he said, "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself… my name is Michael."

"Well, you were sure abrupt when you left," was her dry comment.

"You'd made it clear that you wanted to go home, and I didn't… want to infringe on you any more than I already had. Now… what is your name?"

"What if I don't want to tell you?"

"Are you going to keep playing games? Because if you are…. I'll just go on home and leave you to all the undesirables that might be prowling out here right now."

Oh hell, what harm would it do to tell him her name? "Okay, my name is Leslie. Are you happy now?"

"Pretty name."

"Thank you."

"Do you mind if I accompany you on your walk?" Michael was trying his damn hardest to be polite. She wasn't making it easy.

"I don't care. Do whatever you want," and she began walking without looking back.

_Christ, but she was difficult! Didn't she have a cordial bone in her body?_

Somehow, after walking for about ten minutes, they ended up sitting in the sand as they had the last time they'd met.

"I'm out late in an attempt to avoid you. Why are _you _out so late?" asked Leslie.

Mike chuckled. Honest, she was. "Just finished a gig, and I'm still revved up. Needed to walk and unwind, or I wouldn't be able to sleep."

"What kind of music do you do?"

"Rock and roll. I have a special interest in country, and country rock, so we do a bit of that too. Actually… we do a bit of everything. But mostly rock and roll."

"What are you bandmates like?"

"They're good guys…. Every one of them. David is sought after by women on a continual basis. He's shorter than you, by the way. Micky is popular with girls too, and he's zany, really hyper. Peter is the shy one. Honest, simple and sensitive."

"And which one are you?" Leslie asked. He understood what she was saying. She was asking him to describe himself, as he'd described his bandmates. Fair enough, only he didn't know what to say. He thought about it for a minute.

"I'm the… quiet one. I'm reserved most of the time… I think a lot."

"Is that all?" she asked after a moment.

"There's a lot more… but everyone has a story. Tell me about you."

Leslie hadn't expected this. She'd assumed they'd talk about Michael. She felt a bit uncomfortable telling him about herself, but he was making an effort, so she felt she should too. She'd been pretty rude to him tonight.

"I'm pretty solitary. That's why I walk on the beach at night… to get away from the world. I love reading, and plants and animals. I'm a dreamer. That's about it in a nutshell."

"What do you dream about?" Michael had such an intense gaze. He was one of those people who looked you straight in the eye when he talked to you. She had trouble looking back at him at first, but after a while she sensed he was just curious, and very attentive. So she returned the direct gaze, even though it made her feel fidgety. How refreshing that he asked about her, when most men were only too eager to talk about themselves.

"What do I dream about?" Oh boy… he had her there.

"Let's just say I'm a very romantic person." Let him figure it out. Or try to. It could mean lots of things. Romantic about the ocean, or love, or it could just mean that she took a romantic view of the world in general. She watched his face, interested in his reaction.

He nodded, apparently accepting her answer.

"Headstrong too," Mike reflected out loud.

She gave him a dirty look. "Not usually. But when a complete stranger tries to…. tell me what to do…"

"Okay, cool it. I set myself up for that one."

"I don't like bossy guys."

Figuring he'd better change the subject pronto, Mike said, "What do you do?"

"With my life?"

"I meant what do you do for a living?"

"Nothing. I stay home."

This had Mike's attention. "You don't work?"

"No."

He didn't press her—just waited patiently for more information that didn't come. Evidently she wasn't ready to tell him any more at the moment. He could live with that.

Leslie couldn't stop examining his face. He gave away nothing. She looked for signs of any emotion, but none were visible to her. She'd seen a ghost of a smile on him a couple of times between the last time she'd seen him and tonight. _He should smile more often. _He was a handsome man, but a smile transformed him into something approachable as well as handsome. She would have never spoken to him in an everyday scenario, like at the grocery store or post office. He was too intimidating, had a brooding quality to him that would normally have kept her at a distance.

But Leslie had had a glimpse inside this man. Only a brief glimpse, but enough to know he was a lot deeper than he appeared at first glance. He just needed drawing out.

"What is the name of your band?"

"We're the Monkees."

She nodded. "And you had a gig tonight? How did you do?"

"Fair. It's taking a long time to break into the music world—be accepted. If more people would just give us a chance…."

Leslie thought about attending one of their gigs, and what it might be like. She'd sit in the back, in a dark corner, hoping Michael wouldn't notice her and watch him sing and play. She surprised herself when it dawned on her that she would really enjoy that.

"So that's your only job?"

He nodded. "We live from gig to gig, you might say," he smiled slightly then, looking a bit preoccupied.

"You're thinking of something."

"You're perceptive," he looked at her with growing respect. She was very observant. "Yes, I _was_ thinking. I was thinking of inviting you to a gig."

Wow, they'd been thinking the same thing! But in different ways. If she were ever to go to a gig, she wouldn't want to be noticed, and he was probably picturing her as being very outgoing, sitting near the front, swaying to the beat of their music, even dancing. She doubted he knew just how isolated and retiring she really was. She didn't respond to his statement.

"Just think about it and let me know," he said, realizing afterward that his statement had sounded like he expected they would be meeting again. He felt dumb for even mentioning it. Why would a beautiful girl like her consider attending one of their gigs anyway? She was way out of his league. She'd never given him a single indication that she liked him, except to ask a lot of questions. And that was undoubtedly just curiosity. Many people were curious about human nature. So that didn't prove a thing.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" This one caught him unguarded. He was a bit shocked she would even ask it.

Mike cleared his throat. "Um… no."

"Why not?" she asked.

"I… well…" he didn't want to appear inept with the opposite gender, but what harm would it do to confide in her? I wasn't as if she was obsessed with him or anything, he reminded himself. _ He_ was the one who had chased _her, _even if it were for another reason.

"To be honest, I'm … I don't have …an easy time with women." He hoped she wasn't going to laugh at him, or even worse, tease him about it.

Well, surprise of all surprises, she thought silently. With his reserved manner and the solemn expression etched on his face, most girls would feel like he didn't want to be bothered, and they'd be reluctant to approach him for fear of rejection.

"Your energy isn't conducive to attracting women," she said bluntly. "You don't act engaged. You don't smile nearly enough, and you appear melancholy every time I've seen you."

"Now you sound like Peter."

"Peter?"

"One of my roommates. He's always talking about positive energy and how it's important to try to be cheerful and uplifting. But he doesn't have much room to talk-he's super shy with women."

"Well, sounds like the two of you have different troubles, but nothing that can't be changed with a little effort."

Mike made an annoyed sound. "Since you asked me, I guess you're fair game now. Do you have a boyfriend? I doubt it… or you wouldn't be walking on the beach at night—unless he works nights."

"It's none of your business." Nope, she didn't trust him yet. She was making that very clear.

"I'd bet you live alone too." No answer, so he knew he'd hit pay dirt. He was learning more about her all the time.

But at the same time, he also felt he was getting nowhere. One minute, there seemed to be some chance of a connection, and the next, she withdrew again.

Mike's insecurities were kicking in big time. The way she avoided some of his questions, showed distrust in him, was discouraging him. Here he was, sticking his neck out. She would never know how hard it was for him to try to make conversation with her. Women too often left it all up to the men. That worked for confident men, but not him. He needed a bit of a boost, some encouragement. She was also mistaking his shyness for indifference. He was trying, but it seemed that the wrong things kept spilling from his lips. Like all the others, she didn't understand him. He felt hollow.

"Well, I think I'd better split and stop pestering you," he said. Then he did exactly the same thing he'd done the other night—turned sharply and walked away, but this time he sent her a very restrained "good night" over his shoulder as he went.


	3. Chapter 3

Mike slipped into the shadows, then skirted along the edges, feeling like a snake that comes out at night to hunt. He smiled to himself. Davy, of all people, had taught him how to be stealthy. How to sneak up on people and goose them, say "boo!" or just to see how close he could get before being discovered. He delighted in it. You'd better be wary if you were trying to read a book or the newspaper. Davy's head was likely to pop up right in your face, and you'd have no idea how he'd gotten there. Then he'd burst into a frenzy of giggles.

He did it often to the three of them, and once had scared a would-be burglar away when Peter had left the door unlocked. Mike now reflected on how Davy, quick and sly as a lynx, had heard the slight click of the doorknob turning, and had been down the stairs and right beside the door as it opened. He'd just stood there, the little shit, and that was all it took. He might only be 5' 3," but he scared the holy crap out of the intruder, even _without _a weapon. Just his quiet, ominous presence appearing calmly inches away from the robber had freaked the guy out and sent him packing. Davy was fearless, and people could sense that. When Mike mentally put himself in the intruder's shoes, he appreciated how unsettling it must have been.

But at the moment, Mike felt like a villain. Keeping her in sight was easy-her white blouse bright as a beacon in the night. _Silly girl, er…_ _woman, _he thought to himself. How could she be so careless?

_Two could play at this little game. Yep, he was really gonna do it. He was going to find out where she lived._

He was reminded of how he'd made himself a promise not to ever follow her home. But at the same time, he was still kicking himself for walking away the other night and leaving her on the beach alone. Well, tonight that wouldn't happen. His conscience gave him no other choice. He had to see that she made it home safely. This had gone far enough. She was being downright reckless. He had to know she was alright. _Why_ he had to, he wasn't sure.

She didn't live far away-he'd presumed that. He knew where she parked her car, so it had to be one of those houses to the west of the Pad. They were spaced well apart-she wasn't within two hundred feet of any of them. Why, a person could break in, do whatever he wanted, and slip away unnoticed. The thought made Mike shudder.

Her house was small. Winsome looking. He wondered if she'd bought it or was renting. Couldn't be more than a one bedroom with living room, kitchen and bathroom. Just the right size for a single woman. Yep, it was one of the houses he'd narrowed it down to. Not that he'd tried to find out—he hadn't, difficult as it had been to smother his scrutiny. But it hadn't stopped him from speculating. He'd kept his promise to himself to respect her privacy. But now...he had to break it. He knew that if anything happened to her that he'd feel responsible for not seeing that she got in her front door unharmed.

When he saw her enter and turn on the lights, he breathed an enormous sigh of relief. He could see plants on the windowsill from his vantage point, some in bloom. He was looking in from a side window. The big window faced the ocean. From the little he could see, it looked homey, cozy. Inviting. His gut clenched a little bit, and he didn't know why. He saw her walking around in there, much as he tried to drag his gaze away. Saw her get herself a cup of coffee, and sit down on the couch, seemingly watching the ocean to his right. He should leave now… he really should.

But something was nagging him. He needed to let her know he was sorry. Sorry for abandoning her on the beach yet again, and for being so inconsiderate. God, he was such a heel! But how to do it?

He waited… and waited… for what seemed an eternity. His watch now said it was nearly 3am, and she was finally turning off all the lights but the one on the living room end table—preparing to go to bed. Patiently he waited until she disappeared into another room, presumably the bedroom, and remained gone fifteen minutes by his watch. _She really should pull her drapes at night!_ He was now reasonably certain she had gone to bed.

He searched his wallet for a piece of paper. He found a receipt from the hardware store. Now all he needed was a pen… he felt like the luckiest guy in the world when he discovered the pen in his shirt pocket. He'd jotted down some lyrics for a song possibility earlier, borrowing Micky's pen, fearing he'd forget them. He hadn't changed out of his band clothes. If he had, and had put on a t-shirt, he'd have been shit out of luck.

He printed carefully on the back of the receipt.

_Leslie, I'm sorry for being such a son of a you-know-what. I made sure you got home safely. Michael._

He thought of writing that he'd never walk away from her again, but that didn't sound right at all, almost like they had a relationship, and she might take it wrong. So his simple note would have to do. He doubted she knew where he lived, so how could she respond if she wanted to? His phone number…. He could leave it, but in the end decided not to. It seemed too aggressive on his part. Too pushy. She hadn't encouraged him or given him any reason to believe she was interested in him.

Scared of out his wits that she would catch him (and he knew that would make things one hundred times worse) he drew a deep breath and ran, bent over at the waist, as if he were doing a drill in the military, to her front door, trying to stay in shadow as much as possible. He felt giddy with relief to see a mail slot in her front door. How convenient! He slipped the receipt into it. Perfect! He didn't have any tape, and was afraid it would blow away if he'd had to stick it into the door jam, but now he didn't have to worry. She would receive it. She'd see it in the morning when she got up. The thought of her finding it and reading it made him so nervous, his stomach nearly climbed up into his throat.

A black shadow moved across the white wall as Mike walked into the Pad. He hesitated, tentative. It whirled, it twirled, it spun, doing Broadway moves. Mike watched it intently, fascinated. It was Micky. What the hell? Actually, he wasn't doing a bad job of it, except that it was after 3am and Davy and Peter and every other sane person in the world was in bed. Except himself and Micky. So he supposed that made him as insane as Micky? That was a hard act to follow…

"What the fuck are you doing up this late, dancing?" Mike was astonished at Micky's stamina. Mike himself was wrung out. But Micky'd practiced for much of the day, done a five hour gig tonight, come home, and was now dancing.

"It's the best time to do it without crashing into anyone," Micky smiled sheepishly. Mike just shook his head and went to bed.

She'd seen their car, Leslie realized as she slipped into bed. It was coming together now. The red modified GTO with the Monkees logo on the side. She _knew_ the name Monkees had sounded familiar when Michael had mentioned their band name. She just didn't know from where. But thinking back, she'd seen the car a few times around town or parked about half a mile east of where she lived. It hadn't sparked much of an interest in her at the time—there were muscle cars everywhere, and she'd forgotten about it within minutes of seeing it. She _did _remember its low, mean rumbling growl though. Very sexy. Oh yeah… she could imagine Michael driving it. For some reason the thought was strangely exciting.

But now she realized that meant Michael lived not far from her at all. If he'd been an avid walker, he could have lived miles away, but now she knew that wasn't the case. She was bound to run into him again sometime, living that close by. In a way she _wanted _to run into him, but that conflicted with her common sense. You didn't want to get too close to people who send out such mixed messages. They could hurt you. Just when she thought he might be interested in her, he said something cold, or got that distant look in his eye. He was too contrary for her, too discordant. She needed consistency in her life, and that included consistent friends. She didn't know what to expect from Michael because he was so enigmatic. There was something dark about him. So when she got up the next morning and found the note, she was completely perplexed.

What did he mean? That he was sorry, and that was it? Did he really just want her to know he'd been sure she'd gotten home safely? Or was there a cryptic meaning in this note that she wasn't picking up on? In a way, she wished there was.

It bugged her. It shouldn't have. But it did. It didn't bother her that he knew where she lived, as she felt at ease in his presence. She was convinced he would never abuse the knowledge of knowing where she was. She found herself wondering why he hadn't knocked on her door to tell her what he had to say in person. Pride. That's what it was. That pesky male trait that she never could figure out. Michael seemed to have a lot of it.

Days melted into weeks, and Leslie didn't visit the beach at night—only during the day. She did afford herself the luxury of watching the sunset now and then, but always went right back inside afterward, before it got completely dark. Michael _was_ right. She'd come to that conclusion after thinking about it long and hard. She needed to be a little more wary. Just because the ocean was her friend didn't mean everything and everybody else was.

Leslie enjoyed her nearly daily visits at the homeless shelter, and with Mrs. Marston and her daughter Veronica. One day Mrs. Marston seemed to be studying her curiously. Leslie shifted uneasily, feeling the woman's eyes on her.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asked Leslie. "You look subdued today, and really, for the last couple of weeks you haven't been quite yourself."

"Really?" Leslie looked puzzled, but Mrs. Marston was on the ball and sensed Leslie was just putting on a pretense of not understanding.

"You can tell me, you know. If something is bothering you, I have soft shoulders to lean on, or cry on."

_She's so kind, _thought Leslie. And she had sensitive insight too. She knew. She might not know _what _was wrong, but she knew _something_ was.

"I'd bet its man trouble, too."

That did it. Leslie thought about it for only a moment, knowing instinctively that Mrs. Marston would be the ideal one to talk to, if she were to tell anyone on earth about Michael. And Leslie really did need to tell _someone._

"Well, it's kind of hard to explain…unless you were there, it sounds so odd…" Leslie wasn't sure how to explain her experience with Michael.

"It makes me sound bad," she added, trying to prepare Mrs. Marston for her somewhat bizarre story.

"Oh? It can't be that bad. You come here regularly to keep me company, and talk to us," Mrs. Marston indicated her daughter, who was gathering some spring flowers on a nearby hill. The shelter had some nice scenery and even a pond with ducks, which Veronica adored.

"What person who does volunteer work and talks to a lonely, homeless woman and her daughter can be that bad?" Mrs. Marston had a mischievious smile on her face. _She's trying to lure me into telling her!_ Well, Leslie had already decided she would anyway.

"I met a man…under… some strange circumstances, and I don't know what to do." With that, Leslie told Mrs. Marston the entire story of her acquaintance with Michael, beginning to end.

Mrs. Marston sat there quietly and listened, not saying a word, but nodding her head at the appropriate times and occasionally uttering an "uh-huh." When Leslie had completed the story, Mrs. Marston finally spoke up.

"And you haven't seen him since?"

"No."

"Well… he certainly sounds like a nice enough young man. Perhaps a bit…shall we say, sullen, but you can't really judge a person on that. He might have a reason for it. But in any case, he's shown… a lot of concern for you and your safety. He's been a gentleman too. And you know what else?" she now had a conspiratory, sly look on her face. "I think he likes you. In fact, I'd bet money on it," and she giggled, her hand covering her mouth, as if embarrassed.

"Do you really? How is being so rude to me a sign that he likes me? It's not as If we're in grammar school!"

"Oh, but honey, men are strange. He's being… a bit gruff… to hide the fact that he likes you. He can't admit it openly yet, for whatever reason. Not to you—and maybe not even to himself. Some men do this to protect themselves. But he's attracted to you—of that you can be sure. The note he left seals the deal."

"But you don't even know him!" Leslie was amazed at how confident Mrs. Marston seemed to be in her conclusion.

"Oh, but I know _men,_ Leslie. And he's one of those men who feel very deeply in their hearts…but don't let it be known until they can be reasonably sure it will be returned."

"Now," continued Mrs. Marston. "If it were me… well, if I were to cross paths with him again, I'd make sure he knew I liked him. I'd flirt a bit, act happy to see him. You might find yourself a different Michael then."

"In what way, exactly?"

"Well, he'll start to gain the confidence he lacks now with you… and he'll get bolder, and might even ask you out on a date! But then again, if he's really shy, or really been hurt in the past…it might take a while for him to warm up. But if he's as nice a guy as I think he is from hearing about him, he'd be worth the wait."

"I don't think I want a relationship… I just thought he might be a good candidate for a friend," Leslie said. "You and Veronica are really the only friends I have." Mrs. Marston just smiled knowingly, realizing she shouldn't argue with that. She knew that Leslie couldn't yet see what was right under her nose .

Mrs. Marston's words ran through Leslie's mind quite a few times over the next few days. It was now summer, the beach was attracting more and more people, and Leslie had men come up to her now and then on the beach—in the daytime, of course, trying to start a conversation, but she found herself not the slightest bit attracted to any of them. She found herself scanning the crowd of sunbathers and swimmers sometimes, and she had to admit to herself that she was looking for Michael. But she never saw him.

Not until about a week later, as she was pulling out of the parking lot to go to the library. The red modified GTO was pulling in as she was pulling out. And one glance told her who was driving it. The wide sideburns were the first giveaway, then the hair that was only half a shade away from jet black. This was the first time she'd seen him in daylight, and if anything, he looked even better than he did under the moonlight. He wore sunglasses, and they made him look mysterious and almost disturbingly sexy. The convertible top was removed, and this only intrigued her more. He looked almost like a movie star.

The low, loping rumble of the GTO's engine was setting the mood, vibrating right into her bones. She felt it even in her own car. Oh my… how could a car's engine turn her on so? But at the same time, she knew it wasn't really the car. Could it have been the driver?

They both took their feet off the accelerators, applying the brakes and coming to a stop alongside each other. Mike nodded his greeting.

_Gather your courage!_

Leslie reminded herself of Mrs. Marston's words. Act happy to see him.

"Hi Michael!" she made herself sound chipper, even though she was so nervous that her hands were slippery and clammy on the steering wheel. She swallowed hard.

"Leslie," he acknowledged quietly.

She painted a huge smile on her face. "What are you doing today?"

"Just got back from practice. I have to go pick the guys up in a couple hours. I came home to get some aspirin. Splitting headache. Stress."

Wow, she hadn't expected him to be so open. Somehow she imagined he would keep a headache to himself. Act tough.

"I have some aspirin in my purse." She realized how stupid that sounded. Obviously he had aspirin at home, or he wouldn't have driven here.

"Good… I'm not sure if we have any left at the house," he said.

_Whew! There was an opening…_

"Let's park then. I was only going to the library," she said. He didn't say a word, just shifted his beauty of a car into an empty space near the end of the lot. She parked in a nearby space.

"Come with me to the Pad so I can get a glass of water to drink with it. I don't take aspirin without water. I'm a bit of a wimp," and his ghost of a smile popped up.

"The Pad, huh?"

"Yeah, that's what we call it."

Well, she was committed now. She was going to "the Pad," like it or not.

The Pad was not far at all from where she'd seen him for the first time. West of her house. All this time he'd been so close, yet she'd never noticed him on the beach before. Inside, the Pad was a hodgepodge of strange keepsakes, knick knacks and older furniture that four typical young guys would have in their dwelling, thought Leslie as they entered. Some of the furniture didn't look sturdy enough to sit on, but she found the couch was solid and comfortable enough, after settling down on it gingerly. Suddenly remembering, she handed Mike the aspirin. He went to the cupboard. "Nope, no aspirin," he said. "If you hadn't shown up, I woulda had to go to the store." He washed it down with water, then asked if she wanted some water, orange juice or beer.

"Sorry, that's all we seem to have right now." He looked as if he were quivering a little. Or it could have been her imagination.

"I'm fine," said Leslie. "I just had a big coke with lunch."

Neither one of them mentioned their prior meetings or Mike's note. Mike came into the living room and sat down beside her on the couch. Man, he looked hot! Just a casual button down shirt and jeans, along with his ever-present boots, but it didn't take a tuxedo when a man had his looks. She'd also noticed he was also wearing a wool hat that she'd never noticed on the beach, and he took it off and tossed it on the arm of the couch.

"It's my trademark," he said, in answer to her silent question. "I wear it to be different. Sometimes, though, I have to get away from it. Like right now." He massaged his temples.

"You weren't wearing it on the beach…?"

"No, if the breeze gets too strong, it blows off, then I have to chase it… that's a drag."

"Want me to rub your temples for you?" Wow, had she really just said that? Leslie had just blurted it out, pushing herself hard to follow Mrs. Marston's advice. She had to let him know she was interested, even if it was only in search of a friend. At least she was doing _something_ to let him know she cared. It was the least she could do after he'd watched over her on the beach for months on end. And after all, she _did_ genuinely care.

His face registered surprise and something else. Pleasure that she'd offered, perhaps?

"Um…" he was clearly embarrassed. So she just began doing it, permission or no. Gently. This was the first time she'd ever touched him, she suddenly realized. The first time they'd ever made bodily contact, in fact, except for when he'd grabbed her wrist after chasing her that night. He sat back on the couch, laying his head on the back of it, his eyes closed. "That feels good," he murmured. His southern drawl made Leslie go a bit tingly inside. It was so damn sexy!

_Keeping talking_, she told herself. _Break the ice._

"Now… what are you stressed about? If that's not too personal of a question, and if you feel like talking with a headache."

"Oh, I'm okay. Stressed about possibly getting a promising gig next weekend… We're practicing hard for it. Then I go and get a headache—screw things all up."

"It'll get better. That's a strong pill I gave you."

"I thought it was only aspirin….?" His eyes flew open, a startled look in their deep brown depths.

"Aspirin with codeine," she said slyly. "Prescription from my doctor. It'll knock it out in no time."

Leslie was lying, and she was instantly ashamed of herself. She was testing him to see what his reaction would be—if he'd get angry with her. Not a very nice thing to do, she admonished herself inwardly. But a good test of his character. She'd been with enough losers and abusers, lovers as well as so called "friends," and she didn't want to waste her time with another one. So she had put the pressure on. She just hadn't been able to resist.

"What? And you didn't ask my permission? You just gave it to me… without telling me it wasn't plain aspirin?"

She nodded.

"I trusted you. You should never…do something like that. That's a heavy duty drug. What if I had a bad reaction, or was allergic to it?" His voice, although alarmed, was still quiet. Had hardly risen at all.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No… just a little disappointed."

"Okay, now I'll tell you the truth. It was just aspirin. I wanted to see how you'd react."

Mike just stared at her. "Oh…. Testing me now, are you?" he actually smiled and then closed his eyes again. "Man, you're sassy. What Davy would call cheeky. Actually, I could probably use a codeine right now. But I don't do that stuff… that is, not unless I had a really bad migraine or something. I don't do anything except drink and smoke pot now and again." His mouth was turning up slightly at the edges. Maybe she was getting somewhere!

"Well, at least you're honest," Leslie smiled to herself. "And you didn't blow up at me, and that's good."

Wait until she told Mrs. Marston about this! Well, she'd leave out the drinking and pot smoking part, of course. The woman was surely going to be proud of the social skills she was acquiring. But of course, did talking about aspirin qualify as having social skills? Leslie wasn't at all sure, but at least she was giving it a go.

Leslie realized how much she'd missed him, even though she hardly knew him. His presence was somehow comforting, calming. Sitting here beside him, rubbing his temples and talking softly to him. She was close enough, leaning over him as she was, to feel his body heat. That caused a warm, quaking feeling in her lower abdomen. Desire… how could you ever mistake that sensation for anything else? He was supposed to be a potential _friend__,_ not lover, she reminded herself.

Forty five minutes later Mike felt much better. "It's almost completely gone now. Thank you." He tilted his head and looked her straight in the eye, and she suddenly felt very self-conscious.

"I should go back and get the guys, maybe play with them another half hour to try to make up for some of the time I was gone."

"What are they doing while you're gone?"

"Practicing without me. But it's not easy when you're missing a band mate. I feel guilty."

"Okay, well, I'll be on my way then…" Leslie headed for the front door.

"Can you find your way back home?" Mike teased, and there went his shy half-smile again.

"I think so. I'll walk you to the parking lot. Remember, I still need to go to the library."

"That's right," he said as he opened the front door and with a flourish, beckoned her through it.

Ah, another good thing! He opened doors for ladies! Mrs. Marston was going to be beaming when she heard that!

When they got to the parking lot, Mike walked Leslie to her car, then awkwardly kind of hung there in space. Hovered like a hummingbird without a flower.

"Well…uh, see ya later. And thanks again for the aspirin and the temple massage."

Ice cold disappointment jabbed at her insides as she watched him walk away.

Well! She suddenly knew why she was disappointed. He hadn't asked her out on a date! Hadn't even asked to see her again… in any capacity! Even if she only wanted him as a friend, it would have been nice to know she still "had it." He'd had the perfect chance, and he'd just walked away from it. She'd never met such an _exasperating_ man in her life!

"And then he just walked away. He's really good at that," complained Leslie to Mrs. Marston the next day.

"Leslie, remember how I told you that he might require some time?"

Leslie nodded. Mrs. Marston_ had_ clearly warned her about that. "I guess I just want to know if… he feels any interest at all. In being friends, that is."

Mrs. Marston gave her a long-suffering smile. "If he's really interested, he'll make a move… sooner or later. But you can't rush him… Trust me, I've had a lot of experience with men. Perhaps _too _much." Mrs. Marston was opening up. Leslie realized she'd better take heed. This woman spoke from personal experience. That was valuable. Leslie could almost imagine Mrs. Marston as a young girl, doing wild things. The thought made her grin.

Michael now knew where she lived. It wasn't as if he had no way to find her. Let him come to her. If he liked her enough, he would. He might love it if she came on heavy (although she wouldn't have a clue how to go about it) or he might be repelled. In any case, she just wasn't comfortable with the idea of chasing a man. It didn't come naturally to her. Even if it were only to gain a friend.

Most importantly though, she'd been hurt and used by men. She was afraid to get involved with one again. So even if Michael _did_ show a _romantic_ interest, she doubted she'd be able to return his affection. It was just that he had captivated her with his mystique, and was one of the rare men who hadn't tried to come on to her.

She felt an unexplainable pull to him, as she suspected he was very much like her. Quiet, reserved and deep. He might have three roommates who were also his band mates and friends, but she felt he had adapted himself to that lifestyle, probably from financial necessity. But she could very much imagine him living alone, as she did, and being very content with that.

She'd been fooling herself for too long. She_ did_ need companionship, conversation, closeness. She was ready to admit that to herself.

When Leslie had moved here, to the beach, she'd made a decision to remain relatively autonomous. She'd lost touch with old friends—didn't want the complications, the hurt feelings anymore. Had thought she'd do fine on her own. But then this tall, dark stranger had appeared out of nowhere, and she had this gnawing urge to burrow under his gruff exterior and find the real man.


	4. Chapter 4

It was with a huge sigh of released tension that Mike received the news from Peter a few days later when he walked into the Pad. Peter was jumping up and down, with even more than his usual enthusiasm, exclaiming, "Guess what Michael, guess what? over and over, until Mike had grabbed his shoulders firmly and insisted Peter tell him what was up. Peter was making him disoriented and dizzy. _Boing, boing, boing. _He looked like a damn pogo stick.

He and Peter had collided in the doorway as Peter had been dashing out the door to tell him. One of the many good things about Peter was that he embraced life and just bubbled over with joyous intensity when something good happened.

They'd gotten the gig. Good thing Peter had been inside to answer the phone, as Mike had been outside washing the Monkeemobile. They'd had the audition, how long ago? Mike couldn't even remember, as the time in between had been so filled with anxiety. They'd all assumed by now that they hadn't gotten the gig. They'd all been majorly bummed out. The owner of the club had taken his sweet time to call, and it pissed Mike off. The gig was for Saturday, it was now Thursday. But Mike also counted his blessings, as the gig would pay well. And you never knew—it could turn into a long term contract if they were well received.

They'd been practicing their asses off for the last few weeks in hopes of landing the gig. Now they could at last put all that practice to good use.

Mike had been going to the beach at night as often as he could, but it had only turned out to be twice this week. He'd had a glimmer of hope in the back of his mind of seeing Leslie out there, but it hadn't happened. At least she was staying safe, he thought to himself. He'd been so dead tired from practicing all day, every day, that he was pretty sure he'd almost gone to sleep on his feet a few times. The last time he'd seen Leslie was Monday, and now he suddenly had the urge to tell her they'd gotten the gig. Wanted to share it with her. But why? Why would she even care? She'd been nice enough to offer him the aspirin, but that had probably only been politeness.

The temple massage had been almost too much for him to bear. She'd been so physically close to him, and even though his head had been throbbing, he'd still felt _another_ type of throb, and that had been below the belt. He sure hoped she hadn't noticed...

She could have come over to the Pad to see him. But then, he also could have gone to her house. It was a two-way street. In any case, he wasn't going to make a play for her, only to be rejected. He was sick of that same old game. A game where he never seemed to win.

If the gig news weren't enough, he got a jolt from Davy that just about blew him away the following morning. They were taking the day off from practicing so they could get a little rest before tomorrow night's gig. Davy had found a note taped to the front door when he'd stumbled down the stairs at 11am and gone out to get the newspaper. When Mike had hauled himself out of bed at noon, Davy had handed it to him.

It read:

_Hi Michael,_

_Was just wondering if you got the gig or not. I forgot to wish you luck with it when I saw you last. Got my fingers crossed for you._

_Leslie_

"So… who's the mystery girl?" asked Davy. "You haven't mentioned her, or brought her over."

Mike was still staring at the note, almost paralyzed with wonder.

_He had the perfect excuse to go over there now!_

"Oh, she's just a friend. Just happened to meet her… when I was out and about. No big deal."

Mike tried to shrug it off, but Davy knew better.

"You like her a lot… I can tell."

"Well… it's not like we've even been on a date. Just talked a few times."

"Well, good for you, Mike. It's about time you started getting into dating again."

"I said we haven't dated!"

"Oh, but you will. She's gotta like you to go to the trouble to leave a note on your door."

Davy was an expert on women, so he ought to know. Mike smiled to himself. He felt strangely like he was wrapped up in something like a very soft velour comforter.

He headed over there that very night. Having gotten some rest, he felt rejuvenated, much more alive than he had in weeks. He was eager to see Leslie, too. He decided to walk the half mile—he could use the exercise. He wasn't into sports like the other guys were.

His heart pounded when he thought of knocking on her door. At least he'd have something to say, instead of just showing up on her doorstep, and saying something lame like, "Hi, I was just walking by and thought I'd stop and say hello." He could tell her about the gig, complain about how long they'd had to wait to find out—that kind of thing. Small talk, they called it. He wasn't good at it, never had been, but this was something he felt he had to do. Maybe it would help him to stop thinking about her all the time. He told himself it was just lust—for the millionth time… but it was sure soft around the edges to be just pure lust.

When he was almost there, a shadow lengthened from the rear of her house. Mike squinted his eyes, came to a halt, trying to focus on it. After a few seconds, it looked as if it were creeping slowly toward the side of Leslie's house nearest him. At first Mike thought it was Leslie, then realized it was definitely a man's shape. He watched as the shadow crept close to the house, hugging it, to reduce the chance of being seen. All Mike's senses were on high alert now, and he waited to see what would transpire next.

The figure approached the side window, the same one that Mike had seen Leslie through that night he'd left the note. The man was crouching below the window, then ever so slowly straightened a bit, in order to peer into the window.

Mike's blood instantly ran hot. First a simmer, then a full, rolling boil in the space of a second. God, he was steaming—just seething with fury. He should have used Davy's method of sneaking up on the peeping tom, and would have if he had gotten ahold of himself, but he couldn't restrain the angry shout that came from his lips.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing, punk?"

The man spun around, saw Mike about 75 feet away, and took off at a dead run. Never having been the fastest runner around, Mike wished for Davy yet again, who could have no doubt caught the guy. He was pretty sure Peter, and maybe Micky, would have been able to also. Being the least athletic of the bunch, he still gave it his best. He trailed the guy for a hundred yards, and then realized the gap was widening, and gave up the chase. At least he'd scared the guy shitless.

He headed back to Leslie's house. She was inside, but looking out the window, her eyes wide, clearly frightened. She'd heard the yell, and seen two guys running, but that was all she knew.

"Leslie," Mike approached the window. "It's me, Michael."

She immediately opened the front door. "Michael! Come in! What happened out there?"

Mike paused to catch his breath, and Leslie wordlessly led him to the couch, had him sit down, and then sat down beside him.

"He was… that scum! That bastard! He was looking in your window," Mike panted. "A peeping tom."

Leslie gasped. "Oh my God! Really?"

"Really. I noticed your drapes open the night I left the note….but forgot to mention it last time I saw you. You _really_ need to close all your drapes at night! Having them open at night is almost as bad as walking out there alone."

Leslie was trying to cover her fear, but Mike saw the tension in her shoulders, her shallow breathing.

"I wonder if he's… ever done it before?"

"No telling. But leaving your drapes open…is just an invitation to a guy like that."

"I'll be sure to close them every night… from now on. Oh Michael… thank you for chasing him away."

"Well, I would have sneaked up on him, put him on the ground and held him while you called the police, but I was so damn mad I couldn't stop myself from yelling at him… and I blew it because he got away."

"Thank God you were out there! But…._ why_ were you out there?"

"I was coming over to see you… to tell you we got the gig."

Leslie practically threw herself into his arms—something totally unexpected, but something he didn't mind a single bit. "Oh Michael… that's wonderful!" She was hugging him, squeezing him, squealing her pleasure. And the physical contact was electrifying. He felt stunned, as if he'd actually gotten an electrical shock.

"I know how anxious you were about it. The headache and all…"

They broke apart—very reluctantly on Mike's part. Leslie was embarrassed but also somewhat excited. Sexually. How did that happen every time she got close to him?

"Yeah. But now the pressure is off. We just have to be sure we do a really good job of impressing the patrons and the owner."

Leslie was smiling ear to ear. "Oh, you will. I don't doubt it for a minute."

Mike now looked around, trying not to be obvious, but finding it hard to resist checking her place out.

"Nice place. Very homey," he said.

"Thank you. I love plants, and they really brighten a place up, don't they?"

"Yeah, looks like you have a green thumb."

Leslie blushed. "I'm so glad you came over. Where are my manners? Would you like something to drink? I have more of a variety than you do," she teased. "I have coffee, tea, lemonade, milk and Dr. Pepper."

"Groovy. I'll have a Dr. Pepper if you don't mind."

She got the can out of the fridge, pouring it into a glass with ice. "Lots of sugar in these. I only keep them for company."

"Need it. Peter taught me how to make protein drinks, and I've gained almost 30 pounds in the last few months."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I used to be a walking twig."

"Well, you look just right to me," Leslie was starting to get nervous, that jittery feeling she got when around Michael. Just being in this man's presence felt like an out of body experience. Everything was a little surreal. He was just sitting there quietly on the couch, yet the air was heavy with his existence.

Mike cleared his throat. "Would you like to walk on the beach with me….sometime?" It cost Mike to say it, but he'd been playing with the idea of saying it all day, daring himself to do it, and knew he'd hate himself if he didn't. So he forced it out now, rather than waiting until later when he'd have had a chance to chicken out.

"Sure," her voice was purposely light and nonchalant… even though she felt anything _but _nonchalant. It made things easier for Mike though, as she didn't make a big deal out of it, or horror of horrors, refuse his offer. That would have deflated him to the point of no return.

"So… I guess this means you don't have a boyfriend? You didn't answer me last time I asked." He'd progressed this far. Might as well plunge ahead and test the waters.

Leslie stared at him, aghast. "Well, you'd just run me down on a dark beach…a complete stranger. I don't think _most _women would have answered you… at a time like that."

Mike just sat there, not knowing if he should push it or not.

"And no… I don't have a boyfriend."

Mike tried not to let the elation show on his face. He looked down at his hands, suddenly not able to meet her eye to eye.

"And you… you don't have a girlfriend?" Leslie found this hard to believe—unless he'd just broken up with someone.

"Ah, no… l've not had the best experiences."

"You mentioned that once before. Were you hurt?"

"Um, yeah. I was. More than once…" She could tell he was reluctant to divulge details. Well, to be fair, she was too. They hardly knew each other well enough yet to be spilling such sensitive material.

"And I'd bet you've been hurt too," his voice was soft, almost caressing. She tingled a bit.

"Yes. I have a difficult time trusting guys because of it. You know how it goes." Leslie abruptly got up. "I'm in the market for a friend, nothing more," she said as casually as she could, making a pretense of getting herself a glass of iced tea, and taking Mike's glass to refill it. "I need a reliable, trustworthy friend who won't let me down."

_There, she'd said it. Now he would know where he stood with her__._

"Tea will be fine for me too, this time. It's better for me," she thought she heard a smile in his voice. "And you've got that in me….if I'm even in the running. You won't find a more solid, dependable friend than me." She liked his choice of words. And the funny part of it was, she believed him. Was she being gullible yet again? Probably. But why was he sitting on her couch, calmly, not trying to make a move on her; not even sitting that close to her, if his intentions were questionable? Why had he not taken advantage of her on the beach, or come to her house in the middle of the night? He'd had the opportunity to do all of those things, and yet he hadn't even shown up until she'd left the note on his door. Maybe he'd been waiting for an opening… a green light. Was that possible? It said something for his integrity. And, wrong or not, she hadn't been lying when she'd told him she trusted him.

As a result of his frayed nerves, Mike had downed the Dr. Pepper too quickly and now he felt bloated. With his luck, he'd let loose of a good, healthy, _loud _belch. _That_ would be sure to impress her. But he was so on edge, afraid he'd do or say the wrong thing, and unconsciously drinking the soft drink had given him something to do.

Now he did the same with the iced tea after she handed it to him. Gulped it a bit too heartily.

"Thirsty, are you?" she asked.

"Yes and no. Well, maybe more no than yes… What I'm trying to say is… I'm a little uneasy, and it helps me to do something with my hands." Wow, had he really just admitted that to her? He didn't talk much about his feelings with anyone. She was easier to talk to than any woman he'd known before, and things were just spewing forth before he even knew he was going to say them.

Leslie felt touched, and a little sorry for him. It must have taxed him to come to her house, not really knowing what kind of reception he would get. He was vulnerable to feeling silly if she were to turn him away or be cold to him.

He wasn't going to ask her to go to the gig tomorrow night. He'd asked her once, in a roundabout way, and she hadn't answered him. But at least she had consented to taking a walk on the beach with him. Mike knew he shouldn't be asking her, as they were only to be friends. She'd made that clear. The other three Monkees were his friends, yet he didn't ask _them_ to walk on the beach at night with him. It was romantic—something a couple does. Yet she hadn't turned him down. She was a tough one to figure out…

"You know…I've been thinking, and I know you promised to pull your drapes at night, but… I feel you need more protection. You really don't have_ any_ protection right now. Do you like dogs?"

Leslie looked befuddled. "Dogs? I love them. But why… oh, for protection. I get what you're saying."

"Are you buying this place or renting?"

"Renting for now. Maybe option to buy. I'm toying with the idea. Why?"

"Well, if your landlord wouldn't be opposed, what do you think about you getting a dog?"

"Well, I've had dogs before… when I was a kid, and I tend to get so attached that… when something happens to them, I really take it hard."

"I think every animal lover is like that. But it's life, you know. And after what happened tonight, you _do_ need the protection. I think you have to agree with me on that."

Yes… I do agree. But I can't afford a dog."

"They're cheap at the animal shelter. And you'd be giving one a home that might not otherwise ever have one."

Leslie was thoughtful. It was a brilliant idea. A dog would alert her if someone got too close to the house, and if someone saw that she had a dog, it would be a real deterrent.

"You know, you're right. I'd feel a lot safer with a dog, although it's a big commitment. I'll call my landlord tomorrow. I think he said once that pets were alright with a small deposit," Leslie's face had now adopted a look almost of rumination. "On second thought… no. I get very attached to things, like I said, and I wouldn't want to have the chance of it taken away from me."

"Who would take it away?"

"I don't know…but there's always that possibility. With both animals _and_ people. I've moved before, and couldn't have a pet at the new place, and with people… well, that's a little more complicated, of course. But I'm getting off the subject here."

Was she trying to hint at something again? Was she talking about love relationships maybe? Without saying it outright? Or just friendships? He wondered if she had the same bad luck with men that he was having with women.

There was a brief silence.

"Well then, what about an alarm system?"

"That would be _way _too expensive."

She was right. She hadn't let him in on her financial situation—just that she didn't work. That had him intrigued all by itself. It was clear she wasn't likely rich—she would have a more elaborate home, and would probably not be renting. Would have a newer car. Although, you never knew. There were rich people who were very eccentric and pinched pennies. He didn't think that was the case here though.

"Yeah, I agree. They aren't cheap. I won't harp on it anymore tonight… but please do think about a dog. If ever you had to move or something, I'm sure you could find a place that accepts dogs. If worse came to worst, I could even keep it for you… until you could take it back."

"Oh, I'd make sure that didn't happen. I'd look until I found a place that accepted pets. But… saying goodbye when it's old, or riddled with cancer or something..."

"Like I said, it's a fact of life. Nothing lasts forever. But you could sure do a homeless dog a favor, and protect yourself at the same time."

Leslie smiled. Mike could sure be persuasive in his unobtrusive way. "I think you've got me convinced, but I've got no yard for a dog."

"All the more reason to walk on the beach…. And you could go at night and have no worries. No one would approach you with a big dog."

He had an answer for everything. "Okay, I'll think on it overnight, but I have to say you make a very good case."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, emphasizing his Texas drawl—as if he _needed_ to. His accent was already making her feel like panting.

Time seemed to pass so quickly, that next thing Leslie knew, Mike was getting up. Two hours had gone by! She felt a jab of disappointment. They'd talked about a lot of things, mostly superficial. But the conversation had been exceedingly enjoyable.

"Will you be up late tomorrow night?"

"After the gig? Of course. I'm a night owl—you know that."

"Okay, how about the beach walk then?" Mike was digging the positive feelings he was picking up from her.

"Sounds good. About what time?"

"I can call you when I get home. It'll be late though," wow, he was proud of the progress he was making tonight, considering he was naturally shy. _ Especially_ with Leslie.

Leslie wrote her number down on a piece of paper and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed briefly. Leslie felt a shiver of arousal. _That's not cool,_ she thought. _He's to be no more than a friend._ A badly needed one, at that. Mrs. Marston and Veronica were wonderful, but it would be great to have someone who lived so close to her and wasn't homeless to hang out with. Not that there was anything wrong with befriending a homeless person. It was just that she needed more friends than just those two. She needed to broaden her horizons a bit.

"Maybe we can talk about going to the animal shelter sometime soon too?" the question in Mike's voice amused her. He didn't assume anything—waited for her to give the go-ahead. She liked that. She nodded.

He didn't want to leave—hell, he could easily talk to her all night. He could hardly believe how well it had gone. There hadn't even been any uncomfortable silences once they got going. But he also didn't want to wear out his welcome, especially so early in the game. So he forced himself to get up and go. Better to leave her a little hungry for more of him than make her sick of him. How he _wished _he could make her hungry for him! He doubted she was hungry for him in the way he was hungry for her. She just liked the conversation. He tried to put it out of his head, but he felt definite passion for her. He wanted to kiss her, hug her, hold her hand, and yes… make love to her. But relationships didn't work out for him, so he'd have to settle for friendship. And yes, he was grateful to have the chance. She had turned out to be a delightful conversationalist once she'd gotten to know him.

Michael hadn't mentioned the gig, so she didn't either. She supposed if he'd wanted her to go, he would have asked again. She was so curious about their music, and his roommates. But, she reminded herself- she had something big to look forward to tomorrow night…their walk on the beach.


	5. Chapter 5

That night Leslie dreamed of the tall, dark stranger again. She'd almost forgotten about that first dream, and she shivered upon waking, wondering now if it were significant. It had to have been Michael. Had it been a premonition? This second dream was a little difference than the first. This time, he wasn't out of reach. He was right there, holding her as he'd done earlier that evening after she'd flung herself into his arms when he'd told her they'd gotten the gig. The dream should have been satisfying, but, in the dream, he'd broke the hug and moved away. She could feel his reluctance to move away as distinctly as if it had been her own emotion. He felt his longing… a longing that couldn't be realized.

They were two people who had been hurt, and she didn't know if being friends would realistically be possible. And if it weren't possible, they'd be hurt yet _again._ In a different way, but still wounded. Her attraction to him was just serving to complicate things. She wanted his friendship. His honesty was palpable, his sincerity warmed her. She didn't know about him, but taking a chance on love again was not something she could even fathom at the moment. That wasn't supposed to be part of it, damn it! Discovering a new friend was supposed to be fun… an adventure. Not anguish.

She awoke very early, her mind still on Michael. Going back to sleep wasn't an option-she was wide awake. A little later that morning, after she'd had coffee and a bit of breakfast, Leslie headed over to the homeless shelter. She helped to distribute furniture and bedding into the three new rooms that had been added on to the shelter by volunteers, made possible by donations.

The men moved the heavy stuff, and Leslie and a few other women carried in lamps and the lighter items. They'd gotten good deals on some beds, dressers and nightstands from a few thrift stores and swap meets. A few hours later, Leslie had to admit the new bedrooms looked pretty good, even with the less- than- perfect, used furniture. The lamps and a few used books were placed on the night stands, helping to add a homey feel.

She felt content as she sat down to eat lunch with Mrs. Marston and Veronica at an old picnic table outside under the trees.

"You've been working hard all morning, you must be tired," commented Mrs. Marston. She herself and Veronica had helped prepare lunch.

"But it's a good kind of tired," was Leslie's answer. Actually, it had helped her keep her mind off Michael. At least somewhat. He had a habit of lurking in the background and then insidiously popping up in her mind unannounced.

"How is your Michael?"

Leslie knew that was coming. "He's not _my _Michael!" she smiled. "But he's fine."

"Have you seen him lately?"

"Yes, last night. And he asked me to go for a walk on the beach with him tonight." Leslie somehow couldn't hold back that bit of information.

Mrs. Marston perked up. "Oh? How romantic!"

"It's not supposed to be romantic. He's only going to be a friend."

Mrs. Marston grinned a little, but said nothing. She wondered if Leslie even knew the effect this man was having on her. She doubted it. Mrs. Marston had seen that Leslie's step was a bit lighter, she smiled a little more readily, she was more cheerful even than usual. Many people might not have noticed, but Mrs. Marston was quick to pick up on these little things. But she kept her thoughts to herself.

Leslie's little gestures and mannerisms all pointed to contentment, serenity. And it _had _to be because of Michael. But she feared Leslie had lost her faith in men. Mrs. Marston was afraid that, with Leslie's attitude about men, that she'd not let Michael into her life. Not in a romantic way. Unless he was blind, Michael _had _to be attracted to her—how could he not? She was bright, very pretty, witty and compassionate. Not to mention affectionate. Michael might wait only so long for her, and Mrs. Marston feared he'd then grow weary, and give up if he didn't make any headway. But she knew better than to push the issue with Leslie. Leslie would have to sort her way through this on her own.

They walked with Veronica to the pond where Veronica threw bread crumbs to the ducks.

"When you _do _have a friendship with Michael… you _will_ bring him to meet us sometime, won't you?"

"Of course I will," Leslie smiled. "He's a lot like me—shy and reserved at first, but after he gets to know you a bit… he starts to open up."

_Yep_… Mrs. Marston nodded and smiled to herself. She was correct. There was no doubt left in her mind. The girl was smitten, but would never admit it. The only thing that worried her was… how patient was the man?

Leslie paced back and forth from midnight on—even though she knew most bars closed at 2am, and the guys would have to pack up their instruments before heading home. So the call from Michael probably wouldn't come until at _least_ 2:30.

Actually, her unrest had been going on since about 9. She'd tried to read, then gave that up when she couldn't concentrate. All she did was read the same paragraph over and over, absorbing none of it. She'd then tried to watch TV, but she found herself distracted, and ended up turning it off in disgust. This was insane—she had to gain control of herself! If she were going to go for a walk on the beach with a girlfriend, she wouldn't be nervous! She stopped her train of thought abruptly. It was just sexual lust, that was all. Of course she could recognize it. She wasn't a child. She hadn't dated anyone, or slept with anyone in a long time. Michael turned her on. Of course she was going to have these feelings. It was only natural—he was a very virile man. And the fact that he was handsome, masculine, wore cowboy boots and those oh-so-touchable sideburns… just made her want him more. But men hurt you…

She had her hair in a long braid because the soft breeze sometimes blew it into her face. She wore a navy blouse and sky blue bellbottoms. She'd put on some bracelets that made a slight, pleasant tinkling sound and earrings with delicate frogs on them. Frogs were a favorite of hers. Some mascara, rouge on her cheeks, a spritz of her favorite Sand And Sable cologne, and she was good to go.

The hours just dragged by, and when the phone rang at 1am, she jumped so high she was sure her head would hit the ceiling.

His voice was low in volume on the phone, as if he were making sure she was the only person on earth who could hear him. Sexy. He was just checking in—making sure they were still on for tonight. The gig was going well. They were on break, and would be doing a final set in ten minutes. He'd be home shortly after two, and he'd come straight over. Leslie struggled not to allow her voice to quiver as she thanked him for calling, and managed to say she looked forward to seeing him soon.

Then she got up and started pacing, wringing her hands and trying to slow her pounding heart. She felt like she had to pee—but she knew it was only nerves. She tried to pee anyway, with very little result.

How was she going to make it until 2? She laid down on the couch, trying not to fantasize about Michael, but failing all the way across the board. Those fantasies turned into dreams as she dozed off. Subtle, erotic dreams were running in the background that weren't clear, but teasingly carnal.

The knocking at the door caused her to jerk like a fish caught on a line, and she fell off the couch with a thud. Very unladylike. Good thing the window wasn't located right next to the door or he would have seen her. She heaved herself up from the floor and forced herself walk _slowly_ tolet him in. It was 2:15.

Oh Lord, have mercy! He was wearing a blue shirt with eight buttons down the front—running vertically, four on the left and four on the right, and gray pants that she assumed were his band clothes. And boots, of course. Black ones. They clicked as he stepped in the door. How could a sound be so sensual? He'd unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and she could see dark chest hair peeking out. She felt faint. God, he was beautiful! He looked tired, but happy. She sensed the gig had gone well.

He tossed his wool hat on her couch, and said, "Ready?"

With that, they left her home and Mike told her how it had gone. "The audience was very receptive and seemed to like us." He smiled, so she knew he was very pleased.

"I knew it!" she said. "Wish I'd been there!" Mike was startled. She'd wanted to go? He wished he'd known that, because he would have asked her to go along. He was just about to open his mouth to ask her if she wanted to go to the next gig, but decided against it just in the nick of time. No… he didn't want her seeing the other guys. She'd surely fall for one of them. Probably Davy. That's the way it usually went. But if she were uncomfortable with the fact that she was taller than him, she'd probably go for Peter. She would find his shyness and of course, his dimple, charming. Or maybe Micky would win her heart with his antics and humor. Nope, he couldn't take the chance. He was the least likely to get a girl of the four of them, and he wasn't giving this one up. If he had any chance at all, even if it meant, as she'd strongly insinuated, just being her friend, that was still cool. He didn't _expect_ any more than that—just yearned for it.

As they walked, there was no shortage of subjects to discuss, and the conversation flowed. Leslie learned Mike played lead guitar, Peter played bass, Micky played drums, and Davy did percussion. Peter was in the process of teaching Davy drums and guitar at the moment. Mike had been born in Texas and had come to California at the age of 20, looking to form a band with other musicians. He'd found them in Peter, Davy and Micky. The four had rented a house here on Malibu beach, and had been playing gigs for the last couple of years, still waiting for their big break, having become fast friends.

Leslie didn't tell Mike a whole lot—just that her parents were gone, and she was an only child.

He didn't try to pry more information out of her, although she sensed his curiosity was piqued.

Suddenly, he said the unexpected. "Do you ever get lonely?" His voice was serious and quiet.

_What a question._

"Oh, well…. I think everyone does." She tried to make her voice sound light, but she got his meaning.

"Living alone like you do…." Mike didn't know how to complete the sentence without sounding like he was interrogating her.

"Yes, at times I do. But… like you, things never went well for me as far as my love life went." She felt her face reddening and was grateful it was dark.

Mike nodded, then turned his dark brown eyes to the sea, watching the waves turn to foam as they broke under the moonlight. He had that brooding look again. Looking at his profile, Leslie saw a very strong, self sufficient man, one who had probably had much more experience in life than most 24 year olds. He seemed wise way beyond his years.

"Michael, does it bother you… living with three other guys?"

"I like it when you call me Michael," he said. "Only two other people in this world call me Michael…on a regular basis. My mother and Peter."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. And sometimes it does bother me to live with three other guys. But… it's more economical that way when you don't know how long it'll be until your next paycheck. But I can tell you something—those three guys are like brothers to me."

Leslie loved that he liked that she called him Michael. She also loved that he seemed so fond of his friends. "Do you guys ever fight?"

"Sure. Just like brothers do. Davy hogs the bathroom getting his hair just right, Peter can be annoying with too many questions and his eternal cheerfulness, and Micky is like a motorized toy with no 'off' switch. Most of the time though… we're pretty comfortable in each other's presence."

Leslie had been concentrating on Mike's words and not paying attention. Just then, she tripped and almost fell. She felt like such a klutz! Mike's hand shot out, grabbed her hand and saved her from going down. Then he didn't let go of it. He held it just as naturally as if they were lovers. Leslie thought about pulling her hand away, but it felt so good…she just couldn't. His hand was very large, and warm, secure feeling, and she just couldn't bring herself to do anything about it. So she allowed it. She actually felt her body, of its own accord, trying to lean, to drift in his direction, craving physical contact as they walked. She shook it off, coming to the realization that his appeal had her bewitched.

Mike could hardly believe she hadn't jerked her hand away. It fact, it felt like she was walking closer to him than she had been before she'd tripped. This was a slippery slope. What was he to do? Move closer to her as well? Or act as natural as possible, and just keep walking? He chose the latter. He didn't want to blow it. She was letting him hold her hand—something he had never in his wildest dreams thought she would do.

There was silence for a while. Both were lost in their own thoughts about their present situation.

"It's nice, walking with you like this," Mike had ground the words out, trying to act as if nothing unusual had happened. Trying to make his voice sound smooth when he felt like choking with tension.

"I agree. I enjoy your company, Michael."

Oh God. Why did she have to say it like that? He _did not_ want to get involved. He astonished himself. He was a living contradiction. Just a little while ago he'd been longing for her, then firmly reminded himself, like he'd done a thousand times already that he would not get hooked on a woman again. And now it was happening again. Really, it had never gone away. This longing…

Mike vacillated for a few moments, then removed his hand from hers. "I'm sorry. I broke the rules," he attempted a smile but it came out more like a grimace. He hadn't wanted to take his hand away, God how he hadn't wanted to, but he was terrified of losing her.

Leslie was bitterly disappointed, but she dared not show it. "That's okay," her voice sounded like a croak to her.

They walked and talked for an hour before Mike mustered up the courage to ask her something he'd been turning over and over in his mind.

"What… did the guys in your life do to you?"

She knew exactly what he meant. "The usual… acted like men." An ironic smile nudged at her mouth.

"Did any of them… get physical… with you?"

She wasn't sure what he was getting at this time. Did he mean sex, or did he mean abuse? She was pretty certain it was the latter.

"No, but they weren't exactly… gentle, if you know what I mean. It wasn't really any specific thing, they just acted as if I were a convenience."

Mike muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"I was cussing. No guy should ever treat a woman as if she's anything… but precious."

Leslie was stunned into silence. Somehow she hadn't expected this from him. She believed he was actually angry. He walked a touch faster, his frame a little stiff and unyielding.

"I can't stand to see women… not appreciated," he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.

"I didn't think there were any men like you… left in the world," she said softly.

"Chivalry is not dead! Now… sorry I got so carried away there. Have you ever been in love?"

He was asking loaded questions—questions she wasn't at all sure she could answer. But he was showing no disrespect, so she saw no reason not to answer.

"I _thought_ I was a few times, but…you know how it goes when you're young. I don't think I really even knew what love is. And you, Michael?"

"No…." he was thoughtful, weighing how he should put this. "Never really got the chance… nothing ever lasted long enough."

"And now I'll ask you what you asked me… do you get lonely?"

"Oh yeah," he said after a brief silence. "Even with three other guys in the house. It's why I started walking on the beach to begin with. I needed time alone to think. I needed to think about… being lonely." He chuckled, and it felt like a warm balm on her nerves.

"Yes, I'm lonely," he continued. "Not for male companionship—I have plenty of that; but for female companionship."

_There—he'd gotten it out._

Leslie almost gasped loud enough for him to hear, then quickly filled in the silence.

"Well, you've got some right now!" Leslie smiled.

_Yeah, and I just pulled my hand away from her_, thought Michael. _Smart move__,__ that was._

He didn't want to move too fast, but he also didn't want to make her think he wasn't interested in her romantically. Because he was. There was a fine line there. Even though he'd been hurt, he wondered if maybe there was a chance things could be different with this girl. There he went—vacillating again. She hadn't pulled her hand away. If, like she said, she was only looking for a friend, she would have backed right off-taken her hand back as soon as she'd regained her footing. Maybe she was as torn as he was?

"I'm reluctant…" she began. "Reluctant to have any more… romantic relationships because I just can't bear the hurt anymore. Thinking someone might work out… and then…realizing they just want an occasional partner…" she trailed off uneasily.

"In the bedroom," he finished for her.

"Yeah." She was grateful he'd completed her thought, as she had been unsure how to word it.

Michael loved the soft tinkling sound Leslie's bracelets made when she gestured with her hands. It drew him in. He loved how she looked tonight. He loved how she smelled, how she gazed at him. _ Oh for God's sake—he was going to have to come to his senses! He was being blinded by her beauty, her intellect, her interest in him._

"I'd love to hear you play your guitar sometime…if you want to bring it along."

"I'll do that then… next time."

"Funny, living so close to you, I've never seen you on the beach in the daytime before," Leslie had been wondering about this.

"I don't go out too often. Just now and then to play frisbee with the others. I prefer going out at night. The others do though, when we're not practicing. You've probably seen them quite a few times."

Leslie wondered why he hadn't invited her to the Pad when the others were home, or said anything about introducing them to her. But she supposed that was jumping the gun. If they were to be friends, it might take some time before he was comfortable enough for that.

The time went by swiftly, as it always seemed to do with them. Mike walked Leslie home, then when they stood facing each other on her porch, he reached behind her, grabbed her braid, and tugged gently on it. She liked it—somehow it felt like an intimate gesture. At first she'd thought he was going to hug her.

"I'm glad we walked…and talked," he said.

Leslie looked down, feeling a bit meek. His masculine presence was enough to knock her over.

"Did you get ahold of your landlord?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. He was fine about a dog. Said a deposit wasn't even necessary."

"Well, then…. when would you like to go to the animal shelter?"

"My schedule is pretty free, except for a couple hours every other day at the homeless shelter."

"Homeless shelter?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I guess I didn't. I volunteer at a homeless shelter a few times a week."

"That's great. Although it doesn't surprise me. It's just the sort of person you are."

"Sometime… would you think about going there with me? Just for an hour or so?"

Mike hesitated, then half-smiled. He was so good at teasing her by not quite letting loose with a full smile!

"Yeah, I'd like that," he said. "You know, man, I really hate leaving you at home…alone…at night. Can we possibly go to the shelter tomorrow? I'd feel a lot better about you…at night."

"Sure. What time?"

He was shocked yet again that she'd agreed so readily.

"Well, considering it's almost four now, how about noon? We could stop for lunch on the way."

Whoa! She hadn't been expecting this! Lunch-it was _almost _like a date! But then again, she wouldn't hesitate to have lunch with a friend. So she guessed it was alright.

"Sounds good. I'll be ready."

"I'll pick you up."

"Just gun your engine in the parking lot, and I'll be there," she didn't want him to have to walk half a mile to pick her up.

"Sounds kinda teenager-ish, but if you insist."

"I insist."

"Good night, Leslie."

"Good night Michael."

"Ribbit," he said, touching one of her frog earrings lightly. Amazing how sensual something so silly could be when you were yearning for someone.

He turned and walked away. Seemed he did way too much of that…

"You sure are going to the beach a lot lately," Peter greeted Mike as he walked into the Pad. "Even more often than you used to." Peter was wide awake, and eyeing him closely. Peter was astute—Mike knew that only too well. If anyone were to pick up on what was going on, it would be Peter.

Mike was not eager to talk about it, so he shrugged it off. Took on a casual air in an effort to get under Peter's radar. "It's my thinking time," he said offhandedly. _It was his secret._

"Why so late at night though? Or should I say, early in the morning?"

"Can't sleep. Speaking of early in the morning… why are_ you_ up?

"Same reason. Can't sleep. Restless."

Wow, Peter seemed to echo the way Mike had felt before he'd met Leslie. At least now Mike had a _reason _to walk on the beach. A very enticing reason. He saw that somewhat vapid look on Peter's face and felt a stab of something like pity. A look that told him Peter was indeed in a similar state of mind that Mike had been. Lost and kind of drifting. Mike hoped Peter would be fortunate enough to find someone to spend time with, as he had. Wherever it might go, Mike feared he was falling for Leslie, and fast…


	6. Chapter 6

When Leslie heard the revving of the GTO's engine at noon, she was out the door in a second. She'd been awake since 8, not able to sleep any longer. _Stop it! _ she said to herself quietly, directing it at the sensation of anticipation that was engulfing her in wave after wave of adrenaline.

Mike had exited the car and was walking toward her. Of course, she should have known he wouldn't stay in the car. Being the gentleman he was, he was going to meet her at least halfway or more, and those long legs ensured it.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him, as it always did. Even dressed casually, he managed to look professional, important, a man on a mission. She bet he could do a brilliant job of knocking you down to size too. That is, if he were so inclined. Right now, he was about three quarters of the way to a smile. Funny how he hung onto that last fragment so stubbornly.

He wore his wool hat today, and he looked so _Mike._ She realized he was making a statement to the world. _This is who I am, like it or not._ She liked his air of confidence.

He opened his arms when they got within three feet of each other, and she gladly melted into them. She never would have guessed he would initiate a hug! As they turned to walk to the car, he took her hand in his. Mike was glad he'd somehow found the nerve. He'd practically had to ram his head into the wall to summon it. No way was he going to make another stupid mistake like he'd done last time!

Leslie was stunned, but also elated. She'd been confused since he'd pulled his hand away, and really hadn't seen this coming.

"Where shall we go for lunch?" he asked. "Never mind, you'll probably say fast food. How about a nice little cafe?" He was right-she was going to suggest fast food, as she knew the guys had a limited income, and gigs were never static. Mike opened the passenger door for her, closed it, then went around to his side. He sure was earning points with her, she thought. On top of everything else, he was gallant!

The cafe was perfect for the occasion. Two young people just getting to know each other. A quiet, mild atmosphere with good food. Almost romantic. Leslie felt too pent up inside to feel much hunger.

"You can always ask for a doggie bag," Mike reminded her. "So get something more substantial than some silly salad." It were as if he could read her mind. Yes, his experience with women was showing. With his looks, she was sure he'd had no shortage of female companions.

She ordered a chicken salad sandwich; Mike got a club sandwich. As they ate, it was clear that they, once again, weren't going to have any trouble finding things to talk about.

Leslie thought briefly of her dog that she'd lost a few years ago. Sheba. The dog had come down with cancer, but she'd lived a full, happy life of twelve years with Leslie. For at least a year afterward, Leslie hadn't been able to think of her without becoming misty eyed. But now... three years later, Leslie was pretty sure she was finally ready for another dog.

"Any idea of what breed of dog I should get?" she asked.

"Oh... don't be asking me that. I'm biased."

"Oh really? Why is that? Do you have a favorite?" It didn't surprise her. She suspected he had an opinion on just about everything.

"Yeah, I do. "

"Well, tell me!"

"I don't want to influence you. It's going to be _your _dog, not mine. Any large breed would do though. Except maybe a Golden Retriever. Even bad guys know they love _everyone_."

"Come on, Michael. What breed is it you like?"

"Okay, but I still want you to get what you want. German Shepherds are the best... as far as I'm concerned. You've got beauty, intelligence, trainability, loyalty and protectiveness, along with an undying love for their family... all in one package."

"I take it you've had one?"

"A few, over the years, since I was a kid."

"Well, I love all dogs, but a German Shepherd sounds great to me."

"I still want you to get what you want... as long as it's not a Golden Retriever." He was teasing her with his eyes, which were sparkling, and she found it charming. Leslie was surprised to find herself beginning to feel hungry—she was becoming so comfortable with Mike. She ate every bit of her sandwich. French fries too.

"I like that! A woman with a good appetite!" Mike picked up the check, snatching it away as Leslie tried to reach for it.

At the pound, Leslie suddenly remembered why she hadn't been to a pound in many years. She felt so sorry for all the dogs. All those plaintive faces, staring at her, as if they were pleading for her to take them home. Rows and rows of them. Hundreds of dogs. They had discussed not getting a puppy on the way. A puppy wouldn't intimidate anyone. She needed protection now. She needed a young adult.

After going through the rows twice, Leslie broke down. "Michael, I can't… do this... anymore." Mike knew right away what the trouble was. All these homeless dogs were breaking her heart. He'd seen the sadness in her eyes.

"I'm sorry... I have to go outside... and sit in the Monkeemobile. I'm sorry..." she said again, near tears.

"No problem. Want me to pick one for you?" Leslie trusted Mike's judgment. He seemed to know a lot about dogs. She nodded.

Mike made the rounds a few more times to be sure, but one particular dog had caught his attention as soon as he'd seen it. A young female German Shepherd; looked to be purebred, and she had impressed him from the get-go. Her demeanor spoke volumes to him. He asked the attendant to take her out of the run she was in.

She sat there quietly, not barking, and not greeting the attendant or himself. Good sign. She didn't snarl, but she didn't shrink back either. She stood her ground, watchful. She was sizing up the situation, and that showed intelligence. Very promising. Another plus was added when Mike discovered she was leash trained. Mike walked her up and down the rows of dogs. She didn't try to lunge, or bark at any of the other dogs. He did a few other tests, such as grabbing her tail lightly, picking up her feet. He didn't want to do too much, since she didn't know him and might misinterpret his actions and defend herself. Which would be perfectly understandable.

After about fifteen minutes, Mike knew this was the dog. He asked to see her report, and found she'd been surrendered by her owners because they were getting too old and ill to care for her any longer. Another good sign. This meant she hadn't been picked up as a stray, which could mean she'd run away from home. And she hadn't been given up due to any bad habits.

After getting permission to take her outside, Mike led her out to Leslie. The dog walked calmly by his side. For a few seconds, he had misgivings. The dog was large for a female-maybe 85 or 90 pounds, imposing looking. She was mainly black with tan markings. Her ears stood straight up, and he realized what an impressive animal she was. He wasn't sure how Leslie would react to such a big, powerful dog. A lot of people were daunted by such an animal as her.

Mike held his breath as they rounded the corner. Leslie was standing by the Monkeemobile, looking out into space, her back to them.

"Leslie," said Mike gently. "Turn around... and tell me what you think."

Leslie turned slowly, and gasped out loud, her eyes widening, then filling with wonder, only to fill with tears. All in the space of ten seconds. She covered her mouth with her hand.

"Oh Michael... she's beautiful!" Leslie squatted down. "Baaaaaby! What a pretty baby!"

Mike felt his heart contract with gladness. "I'm glad you like her, but be careful," he warned. "She doesn't know you yet, and she's very reserved... just the way a Shepherd should be. You need to take it slow."

Leslie got back up, not sure what to do now.

"Offer her the back of your hand to smell," he suggested. Leslie did as he asked, then Mike gave her the leash and she walked the dog around the parking lot. The dog was very alert to her surroundings. Yet another good sign. And Leslie was showing no fear of her. Mike felt jubilant.

"She's so well mannered!" exclaimed Leslie upon returning to Mike.

"Yes, she was an older couple surrender. She's probably missing them... a lot. Shepherds really love their owners. But I bet in a few weeks or a couple of months at most, she'll be totally devoted to you."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do. With lots of TLC and encouragement, she'll respond, in her own time."

"Oh Michael, she's perfect! Is she available now? Today?" Leslie's voice hit a higher octave, and she looked ready to burst. Mike felt his heart skip with the emotion Leslie was throwing out.

"Unfortunately, no. She has to be spayed first before they'll let her go. But the guy said she could be spayed tomorrow, and you could take her home the next day."

Leslie's face registered such despair that Mike felt terrible at how hard she took it. He felt sorry for her-she'd wanted so much to take her new dog home and start loving her right away.

Leslie quietly petted the dog's fur, and said, "Well, I can wait two days for you, girl." Mike took the dog back in, and when he came back out, Leslie was already in the car, tears running down her cheeks.

He got in the car and reached out and hugged her. His shirt smelled like it was fresh out of the laundry. "Remember, only two days," he reminded her.

When they got back, Leslie invited Mike in for some iced tea, and they ended up talking for three hours. The time flew by in a whoosh.

"Would you like to stay for dinner? I have some pot roast in the crock pot," she blurted out on impulse, afraid he'd turn her down.

"I can smell it, and I'd love to, if you have enough," was his response.

"Oh, I always have enough. Sometimes I have to freeze leftovers. It's tricky cooking for just one."

At six, she sat the table, and Mike asked her what she was going to name her new dog.

"Gosh, I hadn't thought about that... what was her name before?"

"I don't think they said, but we'll find out when we go back... day after tomorrow."

"You'll go with me?"

"Of course. Unless you'd rather I didn't."

"Please go with me, Michael! I want to share this with you. You found me a wonderful dog. But... she's so reserved, and doesn't even wag her tail at me, or lick me."

"Leslie, all Shepherds-good ones-are like that. They are suspicious of anyone at first. That's one of the reasons they make such good protection dogs. They're very discriminating."

"Well, I hope I pass muster," she said thoughtfully. "But...after I bring her home… if you come over... what would she do?" Mike smiled-Leslie was a quick thinker.

"At first, you'd have to reassure her that I'm alright before I could safely come in the house. But she'd soon learn I was your friend, and she'd accept me as such."

"How do you know so much about German Shepherds?"

"I've loved dogs all my life... and Shepherds, as I said, are my favorite breed."

"How old is she?" Leslie was full of questions.

"Around a year and a half to two years. Plenty young to have a long life with you, and old enough to protect you. I don't doubt for a minute that she would too... after she realizes she's to be your dog."

Leslie was all smiles. "I'm so excited-you have no idea!"

"Oh, I can tell, believe me. When you first looked at her, and I saw your reaction, I knew it was going to work out. And if for some reason it doesn't... we can always take her back and get you one who will."

"Oh, don't even say that, Michael! Of course she'll work out!"

"We were damn lucky to get her," said Mike. "If we'd gone there a couple of days later, I'm sure she would have already been adopted out."

Dinner was delicious, the roast very tender and flavorful, much to Leslie's relief. The carrots, potatoes and peas came out perfect in the crock pot too, and the packaged biscuits were brown, soft and flakey.

"I don't make biscuits from scratch... I'm not the greatest cook, but I can cook a few things halfway decently."

"It was delicious. The guys will be jealous when I tell them what I had for dinner. They're having... probably, something frozen."

Leslie put the dishes into soapy water to soak then joined Mike on the couch.

"I like how your picture window faces the ocean, and you have your couch facing it…very restful."

"Sometimes I move the couch right up to the window. It's really comfortable-watching the ocean just melts any stress away." The couch was the sectional type, so there was plenty of room to stretch out on it. Mike thought of stretching out on it with Leslie, then shook the idea loose immediately. He shouldn't be letting thoughts like that enter his head. He felt guilty-she only wanted friendship. But then he remembered how they'd held hands today, and wondered...

The day finally arrived to pick up the dog, and Mike thought Leslie was going to squeeze him to death, the way she kept hugging him. She was a lot stronger than he'd realized. But it tickled him to no end that she liked the dog he'd chosen for her so much.

She was a little sore from being spayed, but otherwise was the same dog with the cool demeanor they'd seen two days before.

"Oh my God, Mike. She's even more beautiful than I remembered!" It was true—she was a magnificent animal.

Mike felt proud as the clerk smiled at Leslie's enthusiasm. "Your boyfriend getting you a dog?" she asked, after looking for a wedding ring on Leslie's left hand.

Leslie blushed deeply and lowered her eyes. Mike just smiled. Leslie just _knew _they looked like two dopes who couldn't even answer a simple question.

"Remember to bring her back in 10 days to have her stitches removed," said the clerk.

The attendant brought the dog out, and Leslie remembered to ask what her name had been. Looking at the report, the attendant announced, "Breezy."

"Breezy... said Leslie. "I like it-I really like it. Like the ocean breeze."

"So you're going to keep it?" Mike asked.

"I would have kept it no matter what it was, since she already knows it... and she's gone through so much already. Why traumatize her further by changing her name?"

"I like your logic."

Breezy stepped right into the Monkeemobile's middle seat when asked to, although gingerly, still being touchy from her surgery.

"I'm going to have to drop you off," said Mike. "I have to practice with the guys. We're doing another gig this weekend at the same place. Things look really promising."

"Oh... I didn't hold you up, did I?"

"No, we were planning on practicing at 2:30 anyway. I'll be just in time. Think you'll be alright alone with her?"

"We'll be fine."

"Okay."

"Wait a minute... on my goodness, Michael! They didn't ask for any money for Breezy!"

"No problem."

"What do you mean, no problem?"

"I pre-paid for her when we saw her the first time."

"What? How much was it? Oh Michael, thank you, but I need to pay you for her."

"No... getting her was my idea. But more importantly, I _wanted _to do it."

"No, I won't let you. It's too much."

"Listen, you'll hurt my pride..." he half-smiled.

"Oh Michael, thank you so much."

"Is it okay if I call you?"

Leslie noted the way he didn't just assume anything. He was asking permission to call her. She loved it.

"Of course!"

"Okay, be careful. I'll be home for the next half hour, getting our equipment ready, so call me if you have any trouble at all with Breezy, okay?"

"Okay."

He helped her get Breezy out, then drove away as she proudly led her new beautiful German Shepherd home.

Breezy entered her new home with Leslie with dignity and poise. Leslie took her leash off and allowed her to explore. The leash was temporary—just to bring Breezy home with. Leslie would return it when she took Breezy back to get her stitches removed. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten to get a leash or collar when she'd gotten dog food, treats and a few toys. Well, at least now she could measure Breezy's neck in order to get a well fitting collar for her.

As Leslie expected, Breezy was apparently housebroken. She took her out about an hour later, and the dog did her business. She got lots of praise for that. When they came back in, Breezy settled at Leslie's feet while Leslie read a book, getting some much needed rest after being in the pound, being spayed, and then being brought to a new home all in the space of a few days.

Leslie didn't even want to get up to do housework, or care for her plants, or do anything, for that matter, because Breezy woke up every time she moved. Poor thing, she was probably afraid of losing another owner. "But that won't happen this time, girl," Leslie said to her.

Later that evening the phone rang, and Michael's soft, sexy voice practically made love to her ear.

"How's Breezy doing?"

"Fabulous," and Leslie described everything that had transpired since she'd gotten home.

"Good! Sounds like she's settling in, and it won't be long until she knows what her job is—to take care of you."

"I can't tell you enough, Michael, how much I appreciate everything."

"Can I bring over my guitar next time I visit, and serenade you?" Mike's voice had an impishly playful quality to it. "That is, if you want me over again…?"

"I'd love it." Leslie had to repress a squeal of joy.

When Leslie didn't hear a word from Mike for two days, she began to wonder if something might have happened, or if he had lost his interest. She knew she was being silly—he was busy, and she couldn't expect to hear from him every day. He had to practice, do things around the Pad, run errands. He had a life too.

Breezy was taking to her much more quickly than she had thought she would. Within two days, the dog was following Leslie around the house, and even wagging her tail demurely when it was time for her to be walked. Leslie walked her three times a day, unless the dog indicated she had to go out more often, which Breezy let her know with a polite, soft whine, and waiting patiently by the front door.

Best of all, Leslie could once again walk on the beach at night without fear. She knew that Breezy would protect her, and even if not, no one in their right minds would approach her.

Mrs. Marston was not concerned in the least when Leslie told her about Mike not contacting her for two days. "He's giving you some space," she said. "Remember, I know men, and your Michael won't desert you now. You can count on it. He's making sure you don't grow tired of him."

Every time the phone rang, Leslie startled, and stubbed her toe running to answer it the next morning.

"Hi," he didn't identify himself, but he didn't need to.

"Hi."

"I didn't want to just show up without prior notice. Is it…okay if I come over tonight?"

_Was it okay?_

Leslie dug up her dignity, tamped down her excitement and answered him calmly. "Yes… that would be fine."

What she really wanted to do was jump up and down, click her heels together and pump her fist like a maniac. As she hung up, she realized this phone call had opened her eyes to the fact that she already regarded Mike as more than just a friend. _But she couldn't let that happen__…_

When the knock came at the door, Breezy's ears twitched, and she uttered a soft "woof" as she trotted to the door, looking expectantly back at Leslie. Leslie grabbed her makeshift rope collar and opened the door.

"Hi pretty girls," Michael addressed both Leslie and Breezy. "Touch me," he then said to Leslie. _Touch him?_ Oh my God, that sounded so sexy!

"Let her know I'm alright. Touch me." Well, even if it were only for the sake of the dog, she wasn't going to argue with it! She ran her hand up and down his arm, making sure Breezy watched.

"She made a soft woof sound when you knocked, " she said.

"Good—that means she'll eventually bark when someone knocks. She's sure hooking into you faster than I thought she would," Mike looked very pleased as he slipped in the door. Leslie noted he didn't make eye contact with Breezy right away. He didn't want the dog to think he was challenging her.

"Now hug me," he requested. _This was great. _Leslie only too gladly obliged.

"I've missed you," he said softly. Her insides lurched. "I've missed you too." They hugged for a good 15 seconds or more. Leslie wanted even more, but he drew away, clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly.

"I think I'm safe now, not to get bitten. But we'll have to do that routine for the next few times I come over. Until she indicates she knows I'm a friend, and not a threat."

"I won't mind that a bit," she said this very lightly, so as not to embarrass herself _or _Mike.

"I've been practicing hard for the gig tomorrow… got some things done that needed doing. Also, I wanted to give you a little break from me."

"Oh, I understand. About your practice and all… but I'd never get tired of you. I enjoy your company."

As Mike sat on the couch, he lifted his guitar strap over his head and leaned the instrument against the coffee table.

"Oh! You brought it! I didn't even notice!"

"Yeah, I carry it around on my back to keep it out of my way."

"So what are you going to play for me? After I get you a cold drink?" It was July now, and getting a lot warmer on the beach.

"Iced tea is fine. You need to get this beast a real collar."

"I know, I remembered dog food, toys and chews, but forgot a leash and collar! You should see her with those rawhide bones. She loves them."

Mike produced a nice quality 6 foot leather leash and matching leather slip collar from his front pockets.

"Will these do?"

"Oh my God, Michael! When did you do that?"

"When I was running errands the other day." He slipped the collar over Breezy's head. Perfect fit. He was proud of himself. Two inches of slack to tighten so she wouldn't be able to duck out of it if she were ever inclined.

"I can always take them back… if you prefer something else."

"I love them! They're beautiful! And that collar looks stunning on her! You are just too much…" Leslie was_ really_ embarrassed now. He kept doing nice things for her.

They settled on the couch and Michael began to softly, gently, strum his guitar. He sang a ballad Leslie hadn't heard before, and she was mesmerized by his haunting voice, his emotions coming through as if he'd been torn apart and left raw. There wasn't a doubt left that he had been hurt somewhere along the way. His song echoed the mournful howl of a lone wolf. His voice was beautiful and held a tender, wistful quality. She was amazed.

It came to her now. They had been circling each other, staying just out of range, warriors of intimacy. She was gaining knowledge of just how deep he went. She was starting to see inside him for the first time. He was rare—she could see that clearly now.

When the song concluded she said, "I love your music, I love your voice," she spoke from the heart.

Michael looked uncomfortable. It was apparent he wasn't used to compliments.

"Just stuff I've been working on," he said casually.

"You write your own songs?" she asked. He nodded.

He sang a few more songs. His voice emitted a bit of a twang when he did a country rock song. She found it charming. He also did a bit of a yodel, his voice swinging from its normal pitch to falsetto and back again in the space of a heartbeat.

Leslie was beaming by the time he finished. "I really enjoyed that. You sing such romantic songs. Where did that come from?" She knew she was pushing boundaries. She didn't want to cause him to clam up, but she wanted to know where these strong feelings were coming from. The feelings that were evident in his voice.

"Personal experience."

"I thought so. If you ever need to talk… I'm here."

"Thank you."

"Who is your favorite roommate/band mate/friend?" she asked, breaking the melancholy spell purposely.

"Peter." The answer was immediate with no trace of hesitation.

"Why?"

"Why? Well, there are a lot of reasons why…" he peered out at the ocean, wondering how it would be possible to describe Peter.

"He's sincere and honest, amongst a thousand other things. Not that the other guys aren't, but Peter…he has a certain quality that most people never get the pleasure to run across. I don't tell him these things, of course… but he's a rare, gentle soul."

Leslie admired Mike's candid take on Peter. She hoped she'd get to meet him one day. She'd like to get to know someone who Mike held in such high regard.

"The moon is nearly full." Leslie was surprised. Most men didn't notice things like that.

"I know. By tomorrow it will be, and all the weirdos will creep out of the woodwork," she smiled.

"I'll have to come see you tomorrow night after the gig so you won't be attacked by one," he said lightly.

"Yes, walking on the beach under a full moon is so…." She'd been about to say romantic, but checked herself. "special," she finished. It didn't sound right, but at least she hadn't scared the hell out of him. When you said things like "romance," men automatically thought you meant "love."

"They're calling for rain day after tomorrow," he said.

"Are they?"

"Yeah. I like the rain a lot. Just now and then… not all the time. It's why I live in Southern California. It rains just enough here to make it a special treat. A treat I'd like to share with you…"


	7. Chapter 7

_What the hell had he just done? _He'd found an excuse to see her for the next two nights! Had he taken leave of his senses, or what? He was saying things that he didn't seem to have any control over. Like asking her to share the full moon and the rain with him. And wonder of wonders, she hadn't expressed any hesitation. He didn't like this. He was somewhat of a control freak, and now all semblance of order was slipping right through his fingers. Mike didn't often feel vulnerable, but he did right now.

They were playing both Friday and Saturday, so he'd be over late both nights, and yet she'd still eagerly agreed. _What the hell am I doing? Have I gone stark raving mad? Am I a glutton for rejection?_

"They say the clouds will start rolling in tomorrow night," he said, half to himself. "And now, I have to split. The guys and I still have to discuss some stuff about the gig. It's a drag, but it's where it's at."

Leslie grinned. He had a funny way of expressing himself sometimes. But she couldn't help but find it endearing. He was totally his own person. She was disappointed he was leaving so soon, but so glad she was going to get to see him for the next two nights.

Mrs. Marston was all ears when Leslie told her the latest news about Michael. Veronica spoke up, something she didn't do very often. "I want to meet him too." It seemed Michael was gaining a fan club, and he didn't even know it.

"I was planning on inviting him to come here with me sometime next week," said Leslie. "That is, if he wants to come."

"Oh, he will," Mrs. Marston nodded sagely. "He's enamored with you." Mrs. Marston studied the girl's bright green eyes that fairly glittered in the sun, the long lashes that fanned her cheek, the long, silky blond hair that fell gently forward, over her shoulder as she picked a delicate flower, and Mrs. Marston could so easily imagine a tall, dark, handsome man adoring her. Leslie had such a youthful air to her—you'd never know she was 29, but then, that's what love does to you, thought Mrs. Marston inwardly. It makes you glow. _She doesn't know it yet, but she's on her way to falling in love with that young man._

_Full moon tonight._ And Michael would be over. Leslie had spent extra time in the bathtub, bubbles nearly cascading over the sides. She was in a rare mood. It was probably the full moon, she told herself. Not just Michael's influence. But how could a woman help but feel waves of almost unbearable sensuality when she knew she'd soon be walking on the beach, under a full moon, maybe holding hands with a mysterious handsome stranger? Sounded like a cheesy novel. But that was exactly what was going to happen. Well, he wasn't a stranger any longer. But he had been… only a few weeks ago.

Breezy barked when Mike knocked on the door at 2:30. And for the first time, it was a full bark. A confident bark. It was deep and no-nonsense sounding, thought Leslie proudly. "Good girl!" Leslie praised her for being alert. They went to the door together, Leslie holding her collar. The grain of the leather felt good in her hand. In fact, all Leslie's senses were hyper aware tonight. She smelled his cologne as soon as she opened the door. Manly, fresh, understated. He was still in his band clothes. She liked the idea that he hadn't even changed before coming over to see her. Maybe because he was eager?

"Touch me," he said softly.

_Oh my God._ That kind of talk was downright hazardous! She wondered if he didn't know what it did to her. No… she didn't suppose he did. She touched him. She told herself it was because of the dog, but if he'd asked her to touch him without the dog's presence, would she? It would have been very tempting, particularly since tonight held a special quality—the full moon must be what was making her so amorous. Yeah, that must be it. Or would she have been just as amorous for Michael without a full moon? She was afraid of the answer.

In an instant she threw caution to the wind. _To hell with it! _He wasn't going to have to ask for the hug tonight. She went ahead and hugged him, and he hugged her back—more firmly, more securely than his prior hugs. Was he feeling the same way tonight? The difference in his body language was apparent. Their bodies were pressed closer than ever before. Always before, they'd hugged mostly with just their upper bodies, tension remaining in their lower bodies. Tonight something was in the air, whatever it was, and she felt him allowing himself to relax a bit and mold against her. Just a little bit, but it was there. She could actually _feel_ him making the decision.

There was immediate sexual desire on her part. His body was right there, not unnaturally angled away, or with any undercurrent of tension. Surrounding her with his arms completely. Drawing her in more intensely. She took a step back then, confusion and bewilderment and fascination piling up on top of each other. The arousal was the most disconcerting part.

She used one of his tricks, and cleared her throat awkwardly, turning and busying herself with getting Breezy's leash off the coffee table. They walked out into the night, the moon shining silver and lonely, keeping quiet watch over them. She could see his eyes well tonight with the extra illumination, and she saw something there that smacked of earnestness. Something extra…his expression was serious, sincere. His gaze was so direct she wanted to crumple under it.

"How did the gig go?"

"Really good, really good. We're beginning to get recognition. It's going to lead to good things. Had a call earlier tonight from a club that said they won't even require us to audition if we'll play for them. I guess word of mouth. And an owner of another club approached us tonight as we were packing up to leave. Guess he'd been watching us in the audience all night. Seems other clubs are starting to hear of us and want to give us a trial run. Unless things take a drastic turn, we'll be in high demand for at least the next few months. Takes a lot of pressure off."

He looked so pleased that she just had to hug him again. And then she realized it _hadn't _been her imagination… the feeling, and the physical closeness returned. In a nanosecond. The arousal _certainly _did. He was good at hiding his feelings—much more accomplished at it than she was. She felt his eyes still on her even when she looked away. He was measuring her response. She got the feeling he knew exactly how she felt tonight. _She didn't want him to know!_ But there was no place to hide from those dark eyes.

"You're different tonight." He knew, alright. _How much_ he knew though, was anyone's guess.

"_Something_ is different tonight, true. Don't know if it's the moon or not. But I _feel_ different." She didn't say any more for fear of blurting out the wrong thing. Giving herself away.

"Not different, Leslie. Just more intense." The words he spoke affected her as strongly as if he'd caressed her lovingly.

_He'd nailed it!_

Leslie reached down and unclipped Breezy's leash. Over the last few days, the dog had proven she was truly Leslie's dog. She never strayed farther than about 30 feet from her, and Leslie felt comfortable letting her loose at night, unlike the daytime when there were a lot of people about.

Breezy ran to the edge of the water, nipping at it, leaping, bounding, and running happily. Michael and Leslie watched her with amusement.

"Are we fighting it?" asked Mike out of the blue. He was so good at catching her unaware!

She didn't pretend not to understand. "I suppose we are."

"Does it distress you?"

"In a way. But mostly you just make me feel good… feels good to anticipate your visits… feels good once you get here."

Mike absorbed that. Then he struggled to speak his mind. "Leslie, this is difficult for me… " He didn't say more. His words seemed to remain suspended in space.

"Same here. You aren't alone in this, Michael."

"Do I see hurt in your eyes?" He was now facing her, had stopped walking, and she'd followed his lead. He brushed a wayward lock of her hair away from her face.

"Yes… and I also see hurt in yours."

Michael looked toward the sea, as was his habit when he was ruminating over something.

"When a person has hopes… and those hopes are dashed…it's not easy to walk away."

She thought about that. Was he referring to someone in his past, or hinting at something…? Leaving a thought unfinished?

"Tell me, Michael. How much did you love this person… or persons?"

"I'm not sure if I even did… but I _wanted_ to love. Perhaps that was almost as bad."

She nodded in understanding. "Well, being friends is best for both of us when you think about it. Friends seem to be lost a lot less often than lovers." This last part sounded forced to Michael.

_There she went again._ Mike sighed. Just when he thought she was starting to feel something for him, she went back to the "friends" mantra. As if she were warning him away. Well, he was no fool. He wasn't going to get sucked into playing games again. He didn't like games that involved misery. Too many women led you on and then left you for someone else. And this felt like a tease under the moonlight to him…

He didn't hold her hand tonight, and Leslie was more than a little surprised. _What was up with this man? _He was as changeable as the tide.

Well, she _had _been remote and uninviting by mentioning the friends part again. She had to be fair here. She supposed she was making him feel really vexed. He was probably afraid that she'd become a tiger and scratch his eyes out if he tried to make a move. Was she leading him on? If so, it was unintentional. She, herself, was as scared as he was, and she was trying to protect herself, and in the process, protect him too. But how to tell him that? How to word it so he'd understand? So there they went, warily circling each other again.

Now she was wondering if, after that friends remark, he would even show up tomorrow night. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't. She realized she was sending out unclear signals—exactly what men always complained about.

Even with this desire she had for him, there was so much more she needed than sex… it just wasn't that simple. He didn't strike her as the one-night-stand type. Or the fuck buddy type. He could communicate, he was gentle, he was generous, dependable, not a moocher. He was nothing like the other guys that had been in her life. She wanted to run—run away from him for the first time since that night he'd chased her down. But this time it was for different reasons. She would be running from her own feelings as well…

Mike walked her to her door an hour later. It was late, she realized he must be very tired, so she mustn't be greedy. But she would have liked to continue walking with him at least another hour. He spent many hours a day practicing, and gigs took a lot out of him. She knew wanting more of his time was being selfish. And there was tomorrow night to look forward to. She let Breezy into the house, then faced him.

"Look at the sky," Mike indicated it with a sweep of his arm. "The clouds are rolling in, just like they said. We'll have rain starting sometime tomorrow. Can I still come over to share it with you?"

_She loved how he put that… share the rain with her._

_Danger…._but she didn't heed that grim inner voice. "Yes. Let's plan on some hot chocolate for after we get back inside?" She was assuming they'd walk on the beach in the rain. Southern California didn't normally produce torrential, soaking rain, and walking in it for a while might be fun. She'd hadn't done it for years.

"Sure." He hugged her again then. He threw a kiss in too—on the cheek. His lips felt warm and soft, a whisper of his warm breath on her face, and she felt ridiculously like a teenager who doesn't want to wash her cheek ever again after being kissed by a boy she really liked. Actually, he_ stole_ the kiss, as she never saw it coming. He struck quick as a snake. Smart move. She couldn't very well refuse if it only lasted half a second. Yep, he was crafty…

Mike saw the light shining from the TV screen as he approached the pad. _Damn._

"You sure go to the beach at night a lot," this time it was Davy when Mike slipped in the door.

"Don't you guys _ever _sleep?" complained Mike. "And stop interrogating me, you're not my mother," he snapped.

_Ooouuuu, testy,_ thought Davy. "What're you doin' out there, just bloody walking?" Davy wasn't one to be put off easily.

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes… I'm walking."

"Why so pissy about it? You been making some secret drug deals or something?" Davy smiled, trying to charm some information out of Mike. It worked with a lot of people—especially girls. But not Mike. If he didn't want you to know something, he dug in his heels and refused to budge. He was every bit as stubborn as Davy himself.

"Yeah, drug deals several times a week. I'm rolling in dough too."

"He's become a beach bum," Micky stretched and yawned from the couch. "Guess we'd all better get some sleep. It's almost 4." Micky switched the TV off.

Peter just watched on, not commenting. _What was so alluring for Mike on the beach at night? Peter __was intrigued. Spending that much time on the beach at night was not typical of Mike._

"I think he's got blue balls. Either from going without, or trying to woo a girl who won't give in," was Davy's take on the situation. "That's probably where he's been at night." Davy nodded smugly, looking very satisfied with himself.

_Man, he has no idea how close to the target he really is, _thought Mike uncomfortably.

Only it was a bit more complicated than that. Unfortunately, it wasn't just a simple case of blue balls. It was mostly a case of yearning for…what? Something he'd never really had before. Trouble was, he wanted it all. Not just a girl, but a girl who would be an equal; who he could talk intelligently with, tell her just how he felt, laugh with, share life with, kiss, cuddle, hold hands. Making love would be a culmination of all that. The zenith.

The next day Leslie worked with Breezy on basic obedience commands. Sit, stay, down, come, heel. But her heart wasn't in it. So they played fetch in the house, and then on a long leash outdoors. Leslie lengthened the leash Michael had given her with some tough twine she'd found at the back of her property, so Breezy had about 30 feet to run after the ball.

Children came by and Breezy wagged her tail at them, seemingly knowing kids were not something she needed to worry about. They crawled all over her, and at first Leslie was watching every move, but it soon became clear that the dog adored kids. This dog seemed to have no vices… well, that is if you didn't count chewing on Leslie's shoes if she didn't put them away.

Leslie visited Mrs. Marston and Veronica briefly after lunch. She took Breezy with her for the first time. She'd been keeping Mrs. Marston up to date on what was happening with Mike, but hadn't told her about Breezy purposely. She knew Mrs. Marston and her daughter loved all animals, so Breezy was quite a pleasant surprise for them. They fawned all over her, and so did most of the other residents.

Mrs. Marston smiled to herself as Leslie drove off. They were going for a walk in the rain tonight. They'd gone to get Leslie a dog. Last night they'd had a moonlit beach walk. Oh…. to be young and in love again. Living it vicariously through Leslie was almost as good.

As the afternoon moved on, the clouds moved in, and it looked like they just might get the rain Michael was so eager for. Soon the sky held ominous gray-black clouds, and there was little doubt left. Leslie felt warm and glowing inside, just thinking of seeing Michael's face at her front door again. She'd decided to walk Breezy before Michael's visit. It might put a damper on their fun if they had to towel off a wet dog with mud splattered all over her.

Around 8, it started raining. A nice, steady drizzle. She felt dreamy as she watched what seemed to be the ocean protesting against the rain out of her picture window. The waves looked a little angry—forecasting….what? The rain began to come down a bit harder, then lessen. Back and forth as if it couldn't make up its mind.

Not long after 2am, Leslie, clad in a warm pullover sweater and flares went calmly to the door to answer Michael's knock.

"Michael, you don't have to knock…" she was entranced with his eyes—felt as if she were inside them. They pulled her in, literally. She wanted to fall into his arms, and when he said, "Touch me," she knew it was no longer for the dog's benefit. The dog had started wagging her tail at Michael lately and licking him in greeting. He was in no danger. She knew the "touch me" now held a brand new meaning.

She ran her hand up and down his arm, her eyes never leaving his—strangely accepting that they were locked with his.

"Hug me," she knew this would be next, and it was what she'd been waiting all these torturous hours for. When they hugged it was less restrained than the time before. Each time, it became a bit more intimate. Her body was pressed against his for the entire length. Michael made some kind of almost strangled sound, and she realized there was a bulge resting against her belly. Not knowing whether to believe or deny what she thought she felt, she jerked back as if she were stabbed.

"Come on, let's go before it starts really pouring!" Mike followed her, taking her hand and fairly glaring at her, daring her to pull it away. Leslie giggled and started to run, pulling him along behind her. It was raining harder all the time, and when she saw a bright flash of light and then a clap of thunder not long afterward, she leapt into his arms. He chuckled. She thought she felt his lips touch the top of her head, but that had probably been her imagination.

Not even twenty minutes later, they were both soaked, Mike's near-black hair dripping down into his eyes. He looked vulnerable and strong at the same time. But she had to give him credit—he didn't beg to go back to her house. He braved the rain until she suggested they head back.

Once inside, Leslie exclaimed, "Oh no! I bet your clothes are soaked all the way through! I'm sorry!"

"Never fear… I took precautions. I have a dry set right here." He lifted the shirt, pants and socks off the end table where he'd left them. She'd never even noticed. That was how caught up she'd been in his eyes when he'd arrived. He hadn't been able to bring himself to bring underwear—she might see them…so he'd decided to go commando tonight. Peter did it all the time—why not him?

"You can change in the bathroom if you'd like… I'll change… in the bedroom." Now she was feeling awkward again. She seemed to feel that way more around Michael than at any other time.

He disappeared into the bathroom. Leslie went into the bedroom to change. She got her clothes off and had hurriedly dawned a blouse and pants, when she spied a very large spider on the wall. Leslie was horrified of spiders.

"Michael! Michael!" she screamed, running out of the bedroom and heading for the bathroom. Startled, Mike was out of there like a bullet, fearing the peeping tom was about again. He had his dry pants on, but he was shirtless, not having put the dry one on yet when she'd screamed. He had a towel that he was using to dry his hair. As he emerged from the bathroom, Leslie stopped dead in her tracks.

Try as she might, she could not pull her gaze off his bare torso, or his thick wet hair that was all mussed up from the towel. My God, he was breathtaking. Black hair on his chest—the same hair that had peeked out at her from the top of his band shirt not that long ago. Flat abdomen, toned arms that told her he'd been working out. And the flattering extra weight he'd recently put on.

Mike saw her—how could he _not? _She was openly gawking at him, and he felt like he was under a magnifying glass, or a microscope… whatever. All he knew was her eyes were traveling up and down his body, but mainly zeroing in on his chest, as if she were in a trance. _Damn, but he felt inadequate! She was probably really regretting seeing him without a shirt._

It was right about then that he realized his fly was open. She'd screamed right as he'd been getting ready to zip it up. "Shit!" he said, half to himself as he turned his back to her in order to take care of it. Leslie was so embarrassed that, at this point, there was nothing left to do but laugh. And laugh she did. Luckily Mike knew she wasn't laughing _at_ him, and he joined in, somewhat. His naturally reserved demeanor didn't allow him to totally let loose like she was doing—holding her stomach and bending over at the waist. It reminded him of the way Davy laughed when something was_ really_ funny.

"I'm sorry…" she squeezed out between bursts of hysterics. "But your… your fly…." Then she was a captive once again to fits of laughter.

When they could catch their breaths again, Mike said, "Why did you scream like that, anyway?"

"Oh! The spider! I forgot about the spider! It's on the wall in my bedroom!" she pointed in the direction of her bedroom, but stayed stationary.

Mike went into the bathroom, got some toilet paper, entered her bedroom, and came out with the spider, which he deposited outside her front door.

"You didn't kill it?" she asked in wonder.

"No, Peter has a fit if anyone kills spiders. He always puts them outside, so everyone else picked up the habit in order to avoid Peter's…wrath. Sorry, it was an automatic reaction," he flicked his eyes to the floor as if ashamed. _A real man would have killed it._ He wondered if that were what she was thinking.

"That's kind of sweet…" she said, and he wasn't sure if she meant him or Peter. Mike headed back toward the bathroom to finish getting dressed and toweling his hair, and saw out of the corner of his eye that Leslie was trailing him.

He turned around when he reached the bathroom door, looked at her with question marks in his eyes, then gripped the top of the door frame, tilted his head slightly and waited to find out why she had been following him.

Leslie found herself staring again. It was deadly quiet but for the sound of the raindrops on the roof. Her eyes took him in. The hair under his arms was abundant, black and plush looking. It enthralled her. Her fingers just itched to touch it. Her feet moved of their own volition, and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop them. Slowly she closed the space between them. In a daze, she allowed her hand to move haltingly toward him. She_ had_ to know how it felt. If was just as soft and silky as she imagined it would be. Her pointer finger finally reached his armpit, touched, and lingered there.

At the first touch, Mike flinched slightly, but didn't move. First it was just one finger that trailed over the hair, so very lightly, up and down, Mike's flesh nearly quivering like a horse's skin when a fly lands. Soon her other fingers joined in, stroking now, sliding slowly up and down, combing through it. Leslie glorying in how sexy it felt, how furry and just as soft as she'd hoped for. Not being able to stop now, she directed her fingers to move diagonally over to his chest hair. Her fingers burrowed in it, and she sighed out loud. As if in a dream, she couldn't believe what she was doing—how bold a move it was.

Mike trembled. She actually saw it. His eyes were unfocused and hooded. His breathing was irregular. He was nearly panting. The atmosphere was charged, and it wasn't caused by the lightning outside.

Mike felt almost drugged. He swallowed a gasp when she first touched him. He'd never had a woman do something so erotic to him. It wasn't exactly _what _she did, but _how_ she did it. It was an overwhelmingly sensual experience. She'd looked to be fascinated with his body. He was flattered to no end, but had no idea how to proceed from here. He didn't want to do anything to shatter this moment. So he kept a quiet resolve to let her take the reins, and as much as he ached for her, nevertheless, vowed to allow her to do with him whatever she wanted.


	8. Chapter 8

Leslie was clearly infatuated with his chest. Mike had no idea why, but he wasn't going to question it. Her fingers were combing through his chest hair, exploring its texture, a blissful look in her eyes. Kind of glazed over. She stroked him as gently as if he were a cat, and she was breathing deeply. It was terribly heady; his mind was spinning.

He was so rock hard down there that he actually feared his pants might split. Good thing he'd zipped up, or... the thought made him shudder. If _anything _were to spook her_, that_ certainly would!

Suddenly, Leslie seemed to snap out of her trance, regain some control, and, carefully avoiding his eyes, she nestled her head in the space between his neck and chest, one of her hands still resting on his chest. He folded his arms around her. They stayed that way for a couple of minutes, neither one of them wanting to break the spell.

Then, with quite an effort, Leslie eased back, still avoiding his eyes. "Let's push the couch up to the window. It's dark out there, but we can still watch the rain streaming down on the window."

"Sounds good," his voice was rough around the edges. And no wonder… This woman, who had acted almost frigid up until now, had just shown him she possessed considerable passion. Oh, how he wanted to explore that!

He ducked into the bathroom just long enough to comb his hair, but didn't don the shirt. If she liked his bare torso so much, maybe he should just remain shirtless. He felt self- conscious being bare chested, as it wasn't his custom to dress that way in front of women, unless on the beach and/or swimming. To gain courage, he reminded himself that Davy and Peter were not the least hesitant to go around bare to the waist. He'd be abashed though, if she asked him to put a shirt on. He'd just have to chance that.

Together they slid the pieces of the sectional up to within a few feet of the window, and the rain came down in rivulets, doing a splash dance as if only for their entertainment. The lightning and thunder were increasing too. Leslie was glad Mike was here-she always felt a little flighty in this kind of weather.

"Oh, I forgot our hot cocoa! I'll get it now," she busied herself in the kitchen, and Mike, trying hard to distract himself from his erection that still had not entirely left, eyed Breezy. The dog was sleeping soundly in the corner of the living room, out of the way of people's feet, obviously not perturbed in the least over the lightning and thunder. Another sign of a good, solid temperament, thought Mike. He thought of mentioning it to Leslie, but didn't trust his voice yet. She'd surely hear a difference. It would probably sound scratchy and strained in his effort to will his persistent erection away. He felt like a sneaky kid as he slid his hand over to the lamp and, noting it had three settings, adjusted it to "low," hoping she wouldn't notice.

She brought the steaming cups in several minutes later. Mike was leaning against the back of the couch, half sitting and half reclining, watching the rain beating on the window, his long legs stretched before him and crossed at the ankles. This place gave him a cozy, safe feeling.

She handed him his cup. "Careful, it's hot," she warned. Their hands brushed as she gave him the cup, and instantly he felt himself getting hard. No, not _again!_ He had finally succeeded in pulling his attention elsewhere long enough to go mostly soft again, and now that she was near... well, that's all it took-her nearness.

Leslie carefully sat down beside him, emulating the way he sat, with legs in front and crossed at the ankles, balancing her cup on her stomach.

_She was in a prime position to see his hard on if she were to look down! _ Mike was already mortified, and it hadn't even happened yet.

Leslie took a sip, and the whipped cream stuck to her upper lip. Her tongue snaked out to remove it, and this didn't help Mike's predicament a bit. So he concentrated hard on his cocoa, not caring if it burned his mouth a little. Maybe the pain would divert the blood away from his nether region. But it didn't work. Every time Leslie got whipped cream on her lip, she licked it away, and the sight was so tantalizing to Mike that, if anything, his erection got even harder. Just sitting here beside her, shirtless, was enough to keep him harder than a brick.

Leslie shifted slightly on the couch to get more comfortable, and in the process happened to look down. That's when she saw it. _Lord Almighty! Damn! _ Now she knew for absolute _sure_ that Mike had had an erection when they had hugged. She just hadn't wanted to believe it was true. But he was a man, after all, she reminded herself. It was huge-and it strained against his pants so obviously that she now understood why he kept setting his cup in that area-he was trying to conceal it. And failing miserably. It was far too enormous to conceal with a cup of cocoa.

Her pulse increased in leaps and bounds. God, it excited her-knowing that _she_ excited_ him_ so much. She guessed he must have enjoyed both the hugging and the way she'd so wantonly thrown herself at him in the bathroom doorway. She still could not look him in the eye after that incident.

They sat silently, sipping and watching the rain. Halfway through their cocoa, Leslie blurted out, "I don't know what got into me..."

"Shhhh..." he pressed one warm finger to her lips. "I loved it." That was all that needed saying.

Cocoa finished, Mike thanked her and carried both cups to the sink, washing them and putting them in the dish drainer. A man who did dishes? She'd never run across this before. Truth of it was, Mike hated doing dishes, and usually waited until they had a heaping sinkful at home, but he wanted, _needed_ to get away from her long enough to get rid of this humiliating erection.

Mike wanted to kick himself. Without the underwear, this thing was even _more_ obvious than ever. But there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. When he'd grabbed another pair of pants at home, he'd been in a hurry, and had inadvertently grabbed another pair of band pants. They were so damn tight. They had been fitted that way for a reason-it drove the girls crazy, and they'd needed all the help they could get to secure gigs.

It was an ego booster to be admired for his size in that area, both a blessing and a curse, and he and Peter were the biggest in the group. Mike smiled to himself as he remembered several incidents where he'd actually _caught _women ogling Peter's crotch when his guitar hadn't been in the way. When he'd told Peter about it, Peter hadn't believed him. Peter remained innocent in some ways, even though he certainly didn't lack the intelligence to know how things really stood. Mike surmised Peter preferred a more pure existence, and simply decided to live as if that were the case.

Just as Mike was strolling back toward the couch, a blindingly bright flash lit up the living room as if it were daylight. Seconds later, a loud crash of thunder followed. He was on the couch in an instant, knowing she would be frightened. She clung to him and trembled.

"We're safe-don't worry. At least we're inside!" he made his voice light, although it wanted to go heavy with desire. He could have cared less about the storm, but at the same time, he silently thanked it for enabling him to hold her in his arms.

She lingered-too long. She knew she was doing it, but seemed powerless to break the embrace. She was tired of breaking embraces with Michael anyway. So she just stayed put. His hand came up to the back of her neck and cradled it against his chest, holding it gently, his fingers grazing her skin. When lightning lit up the sky again, she snuggled as close as possible, and he squeezed her more snugly to him. She waited for the thunder, and when it came, it sounded like a gun shot, rumbling completely through her.

"Won't be long before it passes over. The ocean was unruly before it came... I should have known it would be more than just rain. It's more like a mini monsoon."

"I noticed the ocean was a bit violent too, now that you mention it."

In the next half hour, Mike's prediction proved correct. The lightning came less and less often, and the thunder decreased in volume until all that was left was the sound of the rain, coming down steadily, and occasional jagged streaks of lightning in the distance. They looked like sparks on the verge of timelessness, thought Mike, possible song lyrics always lurking in the back of his mind.

Mike found himself sliding insidiously down on the couch so he was now lying more than sitting. He was quite pleased with himself. He accomplished it in increments so minute that he doubted she'd notice it.

A minute later, "I noticed you set the lamp to 'low.' I also noticed you crept down on the couch, and you didn't put your dry shirt on." She was propped on an elbow, beside him, her body just barely touching his here and there. Her smile was looking a bit accusatory, a bit teasing.

_So much for getting away with it. Any of it—even the shirt. You're not as clever as you thought._

"Okay, I'm busted. I can remedy all three things though, if you want."

She leaned over him the slightest bit, wanting him to hold her again.

"None of it _needs_ to be remedied. I like it all."

Music to his ears.

She leaned over a bit further and placed both hands on the back of his neck, settling an elbow on each side of him. She was almost shivering with need. He was driving her wild, and all he was doing was lying there. Her torso was over his, so close that her breasts were pressing lightly against his chest.

He didn't do or say a thing as they got lost in each other's eyes. Green locked with brown. Slowly, she eased downward, her face nearing his. _She didn't know if she could do it._ Kiss him… She was still so afraid of rejection, or that he might laugh at her, or even worse than that, tell her he just wanted to be friends, just what_ she'd_ told _him_ only last night! And he'd be perfectly justified, too.

So, when she got within two inches of his lips, she lost her nerve and went to his cheek—laid her cheek against it, pretending that had been her intention all along. His soft sideburn tickled her, and she suddenly had to touch it—just like the hair under his arm. So she drew back until she was hovering over him again and stroked his sideburn. He looked as if he hadn't noticed anything unusual, but she suspected he was governing his reactions—not offering any feedback. Something he was a master at.

Damn him—why couldn't he at least acknowledge her trepidation and help her out? Didn't he see how unsure she was of the outcome? She steeled herself for another try. Closer…closer…To her dismay, it happened again. Just as she got within two inches, she veered off to the side. This time it was the opposite side. So she made a production out of stroking that sideburn too, as if that was what she had planned on doing all along.

At that point, Leslie was calling herself all kinds of names on the inside. What kind of a woman was she, anyway? She had a half naked, seemingly willing, terribly handsome, sexy hunk of man lying on her couch with the lights dimmed, yet she couldn't bring herself to kiss him. She wondered if he were silently mocking her—waiting to see what would happen—a form of amusement for him.

But there was no smirk on his face, no show of cockiness. She'd blown him off once too many times. She could see that now. He was now leaving things up to her. But… she just couldn't do it.

She started to draw back yet again, with the intention of settling back beside him like they were previously when his hand came up, went to the back of her neck, and pressed ever so lightly. The pressure was just barely there, but it didn't leave any doubt as to what he was asking. He was trying to draw her head down again.

Leslie yielded to the pressure, his head rose a little to meet her, and his lips were on hers. He dropped his head back down on the couch, pulling her down with him. His hand cupped the back of her head. His lips were soft, pliable, and he certainly was eager. He fairly vibrated with need. The kiss was gentle and had an innocent feel, but when she responded to him, passion soon dominated. Now Leslie had no doubt about his experience. He was a confident kisser who knew what he wanted, while at the same time, sensing what _she_ wanted. The result was dynamite.

His lips were relaxed, not stiff and unyielding the way a lot of men with less experience kissed. Dead giveaway—he'd been around the block, and it was showing. Once they started kissing, it didn't end for a long time. Mike was hungry for her—she felt it in the way he clutched at her, his other hand on her back, the way he breathed, the way his body moved of its own volition. Nothing was blatant, but he moved against her with gentle suggestion. She thought about how his body language was straightforward, but his mind and words were not. They were restrained. He was trying to keep a tight grip on his emotions, not wanting to repeat the mistakes of his past, but his body was betraying him.

All it took was a kiss. A kiss revealed what Mike was trying to hide from. After he felt her need for him was just as strong as his for her, he deepened the kiss until there was nothing but wet bliss, his tongue slipping slightly into her mouth, questing. The intimacy of it shook Leslie. Kissing could be a very real form of lovemaking—they were balancing deliciously on the edge of loss of control. His kissing weaved a tale of rapture. Michael was taking her there.

On and on they kissed, the hunger being impossible to satisfy. He tasted her lips, nibbled, even licked. It culminated in ever deeper kisses that were almost shameful in their carnality.

When at last they stopped, Leslie laid her head on his chest, the hairs tickling her nose and lips. This led to more curiosity on her part, and she began to kiss his chest. He stretched his head back, his breathing was ragged and rough. "I love it, I love it," he chanted softly over and over. In this way, he encouraged her, egged her on. She found a nipple, and began to lick, feeling it harden and pebble under her tongue. Desire unfolded within her, curling and whipping around like a trapped snake. Mike thrashed a bit, fighting back the urges. Why did he have to fight it? Why didn't he just go with it?

She found his other nipple and did the same, until it was rock hard. When she at last sucked it into her mouth, he let loose of a long, low moan-the first one he'd uttered since they'd started kissing. Well maybe there was hope yet. She wanted this man to cut loose and go wild. She knew he had it in him. Their conversations had left her with a taste, a suspicion of how passionate she suspected he could be. She'd somehow known it was there, just under the surface.

_Heartfelt affection and wild desire wrapped up together. What could be better?_ _Nothing on this earth._

Leslie had never experienced the two together before. She'd known what lust was, and affection, but had never felt both emotions for the same person. At the same time. And to this degree—_good God. _The torrent of emotions inundating her stole her breath. She wanted to strip him of all inhibitions and reservations. That would be pure, uncensored sensuality.

This couldn't get much better, thought Michael—surrendering to her. Letting her have her way with him. He soaked it all in. He… the guy who was reserved and always able to keep things under restraint, even dictate how things would go, have a direct influence. He was giving in more than he ever had in his life… to this woman.

The scariest part is it wasn't all about sex. He was aware of that—he'd been hurt, so how could he _not _know? But up until now, since he'd been hurt, he had ruled everything that happened in his life. He had erected a shield, and he had not let it down once. But that shield was now getting worn down and threatening to crack, and it terrified him. He wasn't showing it outwardly, but inside he was trembling.

He couldn't give it all up because she might walk away with his heart. Couldn't give all he had to give to her, much as he wanted to. Nevertheless, he flipped her over onto her back. Now he was on top. He wanted to see how she'd take that. She didn't panic, didn't even show any recoil or shrink back from him as she had in the past, before they'd gotten close. He liked it…

He looked into her eyes with that intensity of his, the dark brown depths rendering her breathless. He was so direct at times, yet could also be so self-restrained. It was as if he were fighting a battle from within, Leslie thought to herself. Wanting, needing, yet withdrawing when things got too intense, too personal. His lips parted as if he were going to say something…then closed again as if holding the emotion inside.

"Michael! What are you thinking?" her voice shook.

He didn't think on it very long. "Of how beautiful you are."

His lips took over again, communicating effectively without words getting in the way. Things were so heated that Mike feared they might go too far, and then she'd hate him.

Mike told himself she could just be a casual lay—nothing more. It would be so easy, if his mind would let him. But his analytical side was in overdrive, dissecting what was happening, and he knew he was only fooling himself if he thought he was not in deep. His emotional side was even worse—it was what was shredding him up inside. She'd been hurt. He _would not_ use her. He'd never used a woman in his life unless she'd _wanted _to be used. If they both knew, and agreed, that it was only going to be sex. Those had been rare occasions. That was not the case here. There was to be no sex right now, he already knew that, but what about in the near future?

He didn't want to hurt her, and he didn't want to invest himself and his heart in something that might blow away in a slight breeze. He didn't want their silver moon to come crashing down on them…

The kissing session seemed to go on for hours, and Leslie felt as if it could continue for days, and she would feel no need for food, water, or even to go to the bathroom. All she wanted was Mike's lips on hers, moving, tantalizing, exploring softly.

Now that he was on top, she felt the alpha in him. With him over her, she felt his protectiveness, his sense of possession. His strength. It went back to cave man days—a man claiming what was his. And his woman most of all. At least, she liked to think that. It was arousing, enthralling.

He no longer seemed ashamed of his erection against her thigh as he lay over her, kissing her senseless. Leslie admired his confidence. She'd never been with a man who was so certain of his standing. And she knew why—he knew women. He felt the vibes she was putting out—her receptiveness. She wondered how many other women he had enchanted like this.

He wanted more—so much more. But who was he to expect it? What gave him the right? She was calling the shots here. That was how it was in the animal world. The female was always in charge. She made the decisions—if and when they would mate. She chose her mate too. He didn't know if Leslie would choose him or not, but there wasn't lack of desire on her part—he could see that through her reactions to his attentions.

He felt his erection throb against her thigh, and he winced. She could surely feel that. He hoped she knew he wasn't being crude. It was something that was out of his control. But at the same time, she was 29 years old. She wasn't a baby, and not a virgin either. She knew what it was all about, and he hoped she took it as a positive sign of how much he desired her.

After a lot more kissing, Leslie finally twisted herself out of his arms. "Michael, I… didn't expect this tonight. I made that remark about being friends…but I don't think I can deny it anymore. Your kisses are… out of this world." She was breathing with visible effort.

"I was hoping you'd say something like that," his slow Texas drawl was endearing, and erotic in the same breath. "Cause I'm feelin' it too. I don't think…I want…to be just friends."

Leslie had to laugh. He was so serious, yet comical things came out of his mouth at the darndest times, and he didn't always seem to realize it. Or maybe it was just her nerves?

"It's getting late and…if you stay any longer, I'm afraid…. the temptation will be too much," Leslie was burning up with embarrassment.

"Okay, I can take… a rather _strong_ hint."

Mike got up slowly, but there had been no time to allow his hardness to subside. So she'd just have to see it. And she did. He saw her eyes flick to that area, and then away again within two seconds. But _damn!_ He knew she could see every feature of his cock—almost as if it were unclothed. The guys would sometimes laugh about how often they got erections—sometimes for no apparent reason. But right now it was anything but funny. He felt like a horny teenager.

It was still raining, and Leslie would have offered for Mike to stay overnight, but she didn't trust herself. So she gave him a ride home in her car so he wouldn't have to walk half a mile on the beach in the rain. When he kissed her goodnight before exiting the car, he asked when he could see her again.

"I might need a couple of days, Michael."

"I understand. You have my number, so just call when you… would like to see me."

As Mike worked his way through wet sand to the Pad, he was surprised at how she'd fooled him. He never would have thought she'd be so passionate. He certainly didn't think they'd even kiss tonight—hadn't expected it. He had not been this aroused in ages. What kind of spell had she cast on him?

Leslie, meanwhile, was stunned at her behavior with Michael. Sure, it had been a long time since she'd had male affection, but the way she'd flirted, approached, touched, and kissed him told her how special he really was to her. He was worth it for her to put herself out there like that. She hadn't even recognized herself in her behavior. Okay, well…now she couldn't deny it any longer.

She'd never had a guy kiss her so passionately. Most of them had only been interested in getting into her pants as soon as possible. A few preliminary, mostly unfeeling kisses, and that would be that. Mike hadn't even _tried _to undress her, or even touch her intimately. This was clearly a different breed of man than she was used to.

_A gentleman._

When Mike walked in the front door, he couldn't believe no one was up, for once. Peter, however, was still awake, and he heard Mike come in.

Peter had been lying awake in bed for quite a while, pondering. _Where had Mike been going several times a week, in the middle of the night?_ This was not typical behavior on Mike's part. Peter didn't buy that Mike was just walking on the beach. There had to be more to it. The mystery of it was getting to him. It held him in its grip. Something was luring the other man out there. Something out there in the night… and Peter intended to find out what it was.

Leslie hadn't been to the homeless shelter in a few days, but with a jab of guilt, decided not to go today either. She didn't mind confiding in Mrs. Marston about Mike, but now that they'd kissed….she just didn't know if she'd feel comfortable telling the older woman that bit of information. And she knew that Mrs. Marston's eagle eyes would catch in her expression that there was something to hide. She didn't feel like talking about it, or trying to convince Mrs. Marston that nothing was up. She would rather just relish it in her mind for now.

And since she wouldn't be seeing Michael for a few days, as she'd requested of him last night, she decided she and Breezy would have a nice, longer-than-usual walk tonight. She watched the people on the beach that afternoon and wondered if any of the other Monkees were out there. Mike said they practiced at different hours, depending on what was going on in their lives, so she never knew exactly what time any of them might be on the beach.

She saw a short, very handsome guy swimming and playing with kids, and then briefly, a curly haired guy threw a frisbee to him. She thought she'd seen these two before, but lots of people lived nearby and were regulars on the beach. She wondered idly when Mike was ever going to finally take her to the Pad to meet the others. Or when he'd ask her out on a real date. She kept telling herself things would not go past the kissing stage, but at the same time she had to be realistic. She was seriously hung up on him.

It was now 9pm, and Leslie gathered up Breezy's leash. Breezy had been restless tonight, probably expecting Mike to come over. She had accepted Mike as part of their lives, and even whined and wagged her tail furiously when he was on his way over these days. She always knew he was coming several minutes before Leslie did. And when he knocked on the door (still refusing to just walk in) Breezy would jump up and greet him, licking his face. What nights Mike would show up, though, always kept Breezy wondering, and she would pace starting right around 9pm, since sometimes Mike would come over earlier if they finished practice at a decent hour.

At the Pad, the guys trudged in the door, totally worn out. All but Peter, that is. Mike had been his usual mysterious self as of late, and claimed he felt like just resting and watching TV tonight. Peter latched right on to that, and decided tonight he would walk the beach himself. He doubted he'd find any clue as to why Mike was venturing out there in the dark, but he was determined to try. Peter knew Mike never took the Monkeemobile on the nights he left, as they could hear the engine clearly from inside the Pad. So Mike had been truthful when he'd said he was walking.

Before long, Mike was asleep on the couch, Micky was close to it, and Davy had headed out almost as soon as they got home to see a girl he was currently dating.

Peter slipped soundlessly out the door. The breeze felt good—it wasn't overly cool tonight. It was so dark though, Peter could hardly see ten feet in front of him. He walked to the shore and followed it to the west. This was invigorating—he was starting to see why Mike liked it out here so much. He no longer felt quite as wrung out. He hadn't been as tired as the others, but he could have fallen asleep easily. It was just that he'd been meaning to do this for over a week, but every time he was going to, Mike would go outside before he could, and he didn't want to be running into Mike and trying to explain, as Mike might think he was infringing on his privacy. Peter didn't want to appear to be a tagalong.

After walking for a while, Peter spotted something up ahead that was moving. People… no… one person. And something else. Had to be a dog. A person walking their dog on the beach. Well, it wasn't_ that_ unusual. He decided to veer a bit to the left, so as to be unobtrusive. He heard a clipping noise, like that of a snap, and then the dog was suddenly running toward him. Peter loved all animals, and especially dogs, so he wasn't alarmed. The dog's body language was relaxed and playful. It clearly wasn't out to get him. Then he saw that it was playing in the water. Celebrating life—the way dogs tend to do. He realized the owner had let it off the leash to play.

Peter smiled. They weren't allowed pets at the Pad, so he delighted in interacting with animals whenever he could. When the dog veered toward him again, he squatted down, patting his legs with his hands. "Hi there, buddy!" The dog slowed its pace, then paused and sized him up. Sniffing the breeze that was down wind of the person, Breezy realized he was not someone with evil intentions. In fact, she sensed he was friendly. She walked up to him in her dignified way, the way she did when first meeting someone, and he stroked her fur.

"A German Shepherd!" he exclaimed to himself. "You're a beautiful dog, you know that?" he continued on with his cooing at the dog when Leslie realized Breezy had left her sight.

She didn't call her at first, just looked around to see what the dog might be doing. Probably digging a hole happily in the sand. That was when she practically stumbled right into Peter…


	9. Chapter 9

It was as if she were living the nightmare all over again...the night she'd been chased down by Michael and thought she was surely going to get raped or worse. But this time she'd run _right into_ a man!

She'd half stumbled, half fallen, not a foot from him. She landed on her knees, momentarily stunned. At first, Leslie was hoping the man was Michael, but even though it was pretty dark, she could tell right away, just from his mannerisms, that it wasn't Mike.

The thing that shocked her most was Breezy's attitude. The dog seemed calm and at ease with this guy, allowing him to pet her. Breezy had growled softly a couple of times when male strangers had passed by too close to them on the beach, or had reached out to her, so she knew the dog was discerning. It was only certain people Breezy would emit a warning to. _Don't come any closer_ is what she would have said if she were human. So Leslie trusted her judgment. But this guy... Breezy seemed to be instantly comfortable with him. _Dogs know these things…_

When Leslie looked into the guy's eyes, she saw they were hazel. The bit of light the moon and the waves cast on his face showed him to be young-she'd guess he was younger than Michael. Not a teenager, but certainly not her age either. The next thing she noticed was his hair. It was amazing, even in the dark. How hair could gleam and shine with almost no light, she didn't know, but it did indeed. It looked golden, and it was thick, yet soft looking; the kind of lustrous hair you just itch to run your fingers through. It kept falling into his eyes, and he kept flipping his head to keep it back, although the practice was futile.

His body language was totally kick-back. There was no hesitancy or tension like she'd seen in Michael at times. No stiffness or awkwardness at all. No mistrust or suspicion. Everything about his manner screamed _natural._ He was totally engrossed with Breezy until he'd looked up, and into her eyes. Then he smiled, and Leslie just about came undone. She was almost sure he had an arresting dimple. It was hard to tell because it was night, but that dimple would be just about impossible to hide. His smile transformed his entire face when he let loose of the grin. Handsome, boyish, beautiful.

"Hi! My name's Peter," he said in a lower voice than she would have expected, giving the impression of maturity, yet at the same time, he presented of honest, lighthearted innocence-total freedom from evil. She found herself not a bit afraid of him. What a difference from when she'd first seen Michael!

She instantly liked him- whether she wanted to or not.

She knew she shouldn't take him or anything at face value, but she was just as certain that if he posed any threat, Breezy would react instantly. His aura was strangely childlike and uplifting. He was one of those people who you could tell were simply happy about life.

"My name is Leslie," she responded.

"Hi Leslie! So you're walking your dog? My landlord doesn't allow dogs. I miss having one," he said as he continued to pet Breezy with a reverence Leslie found endearing. He couldn't have hidden the fact that he loved dogs if his life depended on it.

"I'm surprised she's so friendly with you," said Leslie. "She doesn't normally take to strangers right away."

"Oh, I have a way with animals—they all seem to like me. What's her name?"

"Breezy."

_Someone who loves animals can't be all bad._ Something her mother had told her, and she'd never forgotten.

Peter was dumbfounded, although he thought he was doing a pretty good job of covering it up. This was one pretty lady! How lucky could a guy get? So he tried hard to put on a confident act. He made up his mind to try to keep her talking as long as possible, as he liked both her _and _her dog.

"Do you live around here, Peter?" Leslie asked.

"Yeah. Over that way," he pointed in the general direction of the east. Leslie didn't even consider that he might be one of Mike's roommates. The thought never even occurred to her.

"I guess you live nearby too," Peter said.

"Um, yes, I do." Leslie didn't want him to know exactly _where_ she lived, although he seemed innocuous.

Peter got up from kneeling beside Breezy and slapped the sand off his pants. He was a couple inches shorter than Michael. He offered his hand and helped her up too. His hand was big, warm.

"I'm walking my dog…but… what are _you_ doing out here?" asked Leslie.

Not wanting to tell her why he was really on the beach at night, because it was complicated, he said, "Just felt like going for a walk."

Leslie knew that at this point she should say something like, "Well, it's been nice meeting you, but I'd better get going," or something along those lines, but… she didn't. His presence was like someone had opened a window and a lungful of fresh spring air had entered a stagnant room. He fairly shined, even in the dark. And it wasn't just his hair. It was also his aura. He echoed the sun in the dark. How was that possible? He looked a bit familiar, and she was wondering if he were one of the many guys she saw on the beach. After a while, they all started to look alike, but this one… his innocent air, his lighthearted manner somehow compelled her to keep talking to him.

"What do you do, Peter?" she kept the conversation going, even though she sensed that if she didn't, he would anyway.

"Oh, little of this… little of that," Peter stalled. He'd found a very pretty lady here on the beach, all by himself, and he was reluctant to mention he was a musician. She might find out he lived with his band mates, and if she ever met them, she'd probably go crackers for Davy. It had happened one too many times. He'd have his eye on a girl, and as soon as she saw Davy, she'd have instant stars in her eyes. So he'd better play it cool and be evasive about his own life. Being Peter, he couldn't tell a lie, and a little of this and a little of that wasn't really fibbing—it's kind of what a musician did, when you thought about it.

"And what do _you_ do?" he asked.

"Nothing. I volunteer, but other than that, just enjoy the beach. I don't work." The lady was a mystery! Well, he wouldn't be rude and pry. It might turn her off, and he didn't often get a chance to talk to ladies alone. The others always seemed to be around to outshine him in some way, even though they didn't intend to. He wasn't going to mess this up, even if it killed him.

Leslie was just as intrigued as Peter was. He'd skirted around telling her what he did. She wondered why. He clearly wasn't a bum. He certainly didn't dress like one. What reason did he have to be secretive?

_Keep it going, Peter! Don't screw up!_

"I know a really groovy ice cream place. Smith's. Have you been there?" He knew it was probably way _t_oo early to be saying something like this, but he was so afraid the conversation would end, she'd walk away, and he'd never get the chance.

"No… but I've seen it." She had to smile. He didn't lack any charm. She wasn't attracted to him in a romantic or sexual way, but she _was _attracted to his sanguine, carefree, relaxed attitude. She needed positivity in her life, and he was nothing if not positive. Maybe he was another potential friend? She was consistently aware she needed more friends. But she wondered what Michael's reaction would be. Was he the jealous type? Would he feel threatened? Well it was her life, and if she wanted Peter as a friend, it was her decision. She didn't feel any different about Michael-was still attracted to him and excited about the outcome of their "relationship," although at this point it couldn't really be called that. They hadn't even gone on a date yet, unless you counted lunch the day they went to get Breezy.

And now this stranger was hinting strongly about taking her to an ice cream joint. And she liked it. Why not? They'd be meeting in a public place, after all. There wouldn't be any danger.

"Would you… would you… like to go and have an ice cream with me sometime?" he'd finally gotten it past his lips. The effort of the courage it took to ask her drained him, because he was almost as sure as anyone could be that she would turn him down.

"I'd like that, Peter…but I just met you." She laughed then, and it sounded like music.

His breath hitched. He could scarcely believe her positive reaction. "I know, but … if it makes you feel weird, we can just meet there if you want… and both go our own way afterward."

Gosh, he was sweet! He was trying to make it work without being pushy. Leslie thought about it, but not for long.

"Well, I guess there's no harm in that. Thank you for asking me."

"Sure, Leslie," Peter's mind raced. He thought about offering her his phone number, but if she called and one of the others picked it up… and especially if she heard Davy's English accent… it would be all over. Davy was nearly as lethal on the phone as in person.

Leslie was drifting in the other direction as if she wanted to be elsewhere. "I should be getting home," she said, almost regretting that she'd agreed to meet him—afraid she'd made a mistake.

"You know where Smith's is though, right? Want to meet there tomorrow? I could be there when I'm done with pr…." Whoops! He'd almost said practice. "Any time after six would work." He studied her, hoping to get some confirmation.

"Okay, about 6:30 then? And yes, I know where it is."

"Okay, see you tomorrow! Bye Leslie! Bye Breezy!" Peter was overjoyed, and his step was light as he headed back to the Pad.

_What in the hell is wrong with me?_ A little later, as she and Breezy headed home, she mulled over their conversation with some regret. Here she was, just beginning _something _with Michael, and a stranger comes along_ in the same fashion Michael had, on the beach at night,_ and she'd accepted a date with him! She'd never run across anyone on the beach at night that she'd talked to except these two guys, in all the time she'd lived here. And now she had _two_ of them that wanted to spend time with her. It was just weird.

If Leslie had thought Peter was cute on the beach at night, in the daylight she discovered he was nothing short of adorable. As soon as he saw her, he jumped up from the canopied table outside the ice cream joint and waved, to be sure she saw him. Then he smiled, and her knees almost gave out. She had been right—he_ did_ have a _devastating_ dimple! The sunlight glinted off his golden blond hair, and she couldn't take her eyes off either one.

It hadn't been easy to convince Mike to end practice early tonight. Some nights they practiced until 10 or so, other nights they sometimes cut it short if one of them had something to do. Peter hadn't wanted to ask Leslie to meet him late, as the ice cream place closed at nine, and also he didn't know when her bedtime was. He wanted to make a good impression on their first date. Asking to see her late at night didn't seem right. So Peter had to make up a white lie. That he'd forgotten he was going to meet his "friend" for ice cream. Mike assumed it was a male friend, and had asked no questions. Peter wasn't outgoing and confident with girls like Micky and Davy, so it _had_ to be a guy. This behavior wasn't that unusual for Peter, who tended to do things that were on the odd side, in Mike's eyes.

Peter thought about taking the Monkeemobile, but then realized Leslie would be interested in it, as people always tended to be, and ask about the logo, and then she'd find out he was part of a band, and back to the same thing—the other guys. So he asked Mike to drop him off at Smith's at six, hoping Leslie wouldn't be there yet. He didn't want her seeing Mike either. It had worked—Leslie had shown up about twenty minutes later.

And there he was, she thought—his dimple lighting up the world.

"Where's your car?" asked Leslie after she was able to catch her breath upon witnessing Peter's dimple. There were only two other cars in the ice cream shop's parking lot—a Volkswagon and a Mustang. She would bet he'd be more of a Mustang person.

He had such a scrubbed, all American look. Untarnished. And the energy he gave off seemed to blanket everything in his vicinity. Why weren't girls crawling all over him? He was shy—she sensed it more than saw actual evidence of it. If he'd had a lot of confidence, he'd have more female attention than he could handle, she mused. She had a suspicion it had taken a lot for him to ask her to come here. That perhaps he was forcing himself to appear more outgoing on her behalf.

"Oh, a friend dropped me off. It's only half a mile for me to walk home," he shrugged. "What do you want? You can sit down here… and I'll go in and get it for you."

Well, she'd been wrong about the Mustang. "Thanks, Peter. I guess I'll have a strawberry sundae, if they have them." Peter pulled her chair out for her.

"Okay! Be right back!" he strode quickly into the ice cream shop, and Leslie couldn't help noticing how tight his pants fit, outlining his butt very nicely. And those thighs—good grief. The pants looked familiar, she thought to herself, but quickly forgot about it in her distraction of this novel situation she found herself in.

Shit! He'd worn his band pants! Not that she'd_ know_ they were band pants, but he'd have to be more careful from now on, pay closer attention to what he was doing.

He was the cutest thing! And he was so willing to do whatever would make her happy. He bustled about, getting her napkins and asking if she wanted a drink to go with her sundae. He was a gentleman too—when was the last time a guy had pulled a chair out for her?

As they sat there, eating their sundaes, Peter entranced her, entertained her, and made her laugh. He was careful not to mention his roommates, which made things difficult, as most of the good stories he knew revolved around them. He also couldn't talk about music. So that left him stories about his childhood, embarrassing moments, or anything that happened to pop into his mind. Leslie couldn't help but be enchanted by him. As far as a friend went, he was definitely a keeper. She didn't want to do anything to jeopardize her budding relationship with Michael, but she had to think of herself too, and gender shouldn't matter when you have found someone who is excellent friend material. And Peter sure seemed to be that.

During the conversation. Leslie learned that Peter was 25. A year older than Michael! She never would have guessed. It was his youthful attitude that made him appear even younger than he already did. He was surprised to find that she was 29, but she was accustomed to that. She felt blessed to appear younger than she was, acknowledging in the back of her mind that it wouldn't last forever.

"So can I walk on the beach with you and Breezy again… sometime?" asked Peter. Oh boy… this was getting tricky. She'd have to plan her walks with Peter on nights she didn't see Michael. Peter was also concerned about keeping his secret about the pretty lady he'd be meeting. He was also worried about all the white lies he'd been telling Leslie, and would have to tell the guys, in order to guard his secret. It wasn't in his nature to lie.

Leslie decided she'd tell Michael she could only see him on certain nights—she'd think up some kind of excuse, and then tell Peter the same. Then she'd see Michael after gigs on the weekends if he wasn't too tired to come over. This would be only until she was able to tell Michael about Peter—after she'd felt him out about how he felt about friendships with the opposite sex. It would be foolish to take a chance of blowing her relationship with Michael right off the bat. She'd wait a while and bring it up only when she was reasonably sure it wouldn't upset him. She didn't like this sneaking around stuff at all. She'd always been honest and up front with guys about seeing other guys, and this felt deceptive. But at the same time she remembered how Michael had been hurt, and she was determined that she wasn't going to make him think she was another one of those women he'd run across in the past.

After they finished their sundaes and talked for at least an hour afterward, Leslie felt a connection with Peter, almost as if he were the brother she'd never had. She wondered if Michael would understand those feelings. She wanted so much to tell him, and she would soon, she told herself. When the time was right.

Peter flashed her his sweet smile, helped her into her car, and then lit off on foot, even though she'd offered to give him a lift home.

Things were going well. They were booked solid for four months straight. Clubs were practically competing for them. Michael smiled. It was finally happening—they were in demand. Word of mouth was going around and people were showing up at clubs solely to see them play. And that meant they were being paid more than ever before. He could ask Leslie out on dates now, and not have to worry about how he'd manage financially for the rest of the month.

Michael and Leslie went to a nice restaurant a few days after Leslie and Peter had gone for ice cream. She'd explained to Peter that she could only walk on the beach with him on certain nights. He'd been satisfied with that. He didn't offer her his phone number, so she didn't see how she was going to let him know when she was free. She supposed she could just walk Breezy, as she did every night anyway, on the nights she wouldn't be seeing Michael, and see if she ran into Peter. If he really wanted to see her, she supposed he'd find a way.

When Mike had called and invited her out to dinner, she'd felt lightheaded and dreamy. And when he'd shown up at her door in a nice button down shirt, dress slacks and bolo tie, she'd practically swooned. He looked so handsome! Those ever present cowboy boots-hearing their click on her floor, and she was done for.

The steak was perfect, the salad superb, the baked potato and brocolli cooked just right. The night was going along so smoothly that Mike took this as a sign. Their conversation was animated and relaxed. They flirted subtly with each other, although Mike retained an air of dignity, as he was prone to do in public.

When he took her home and walked her to the door, he wondered why she kissed him at the door, without inviting him in. He'd thought for sure she would tonight… She had been shy too, like last time. He'd had to initiate the kiss, but she'd responded with fervor. At first it was sweet and hesitant, but quickly became hot and heavy, laced with the passion they'd shared the last time. Remembering being shirtless and on her couch with her had him gasping with want.

But he sensed Leslie wanted to take this slow. She didn't say it tonight, but he knew she didn't trust herself to invite him in. She'd said as much the last time he'd seen her. That was fine with him—he had plenty of time. She was worth as long as she wanted to wait. He was a patient man. It was, however, quite a task not to push himself on her. She threw his hormones into overdrive. He knew she could dart away in a second, like a flighty little hummingbird if he spooked her. And she was much too special—he wanted her willing, and desiring him to the point of not being able to hold back. That was the only way Mike had ever wanted a woman.

Tuesday night Leslie and Breezy were strolling along the water's edge when Peter walked up. The blood quickened in Leslie's veins. She and Michael had not set a date on when they would meet again. She was pretty certain he would call first, but not one hundred percent sure. So it took her a moment to realize it was Peter.

"Hi Leslie! Hope it's okay if I join you for a little bit." He slapped his forehead. "I realized the other day that I forgot to ask for your phone number…that is, if you'd give it to me. What a dummy!"

"That's okay Peter. I do have to explain something though," she'd already decided she'd tell Peter about Michael the next time she saw hm. It was best not to lead him on—let him know she was already interested in someone.

"Okay, wanna sit down and talk?"

Peter slipped two folded beach chairs out from under his arm and casually set them in the sand. She hadn't even noticed them.

"This is nice! What a nice thought!" Peter unfolded her chair, and Leslie settled herself in it as Peter set his up and then ruffled the thick fur on Breezy's neck, baby talking to her. Leslie let her off the leash, then turned to Peter.

"I need to tell you that I'm seeing someone… just in case you…that there was a chance you… were looking for… more than a friend." She'd thought long and hard on what she was going to say, and this summed it up in one sentence, nice, neat and to the point.

Peter went numb, his hopes for a romantic relationship with her suddenly dashed; he couldn't find any words.

"I'd love to have you as a friend though… if you'd like that. But I wanted… to be honest with you right from the start."

Peter nodded. "That's cool…" he struggled for something else to say. He'd sounded hollow, but he couldn't help it. It seemed his throat had a big lump in it that he couldn't seem to swallow._ Here he'd somehow found the courage to ask a girl out, and she was already seeing someone!_ _Just his luck!_ The guys had always told him he'd find the right girl someday, and he guessed he'd gotten a little too overboard about Leslie when she'd gone for ice cream with him. He hadn't thought she'd even show up, to be honest. And when she had… he'd gotten perhaps a little too hopeful.

"Peter? Is that alright? Do you want to… be friends?" Leslie felt like she'd just stepped on a puppy's tail. The whimper didn't come out, but it showed in his beautiful hazel eyes that changed back and forth from greenish to light brown. They had little flecks in them too, she noted as she studied his face. Amber flecks.

"Sure! Yeah… of course it's alright! I'd love to be friends with you." If that's all he could have, Peter would accept it gladly. Just being near her was like a dream come true as it was.

"Who's the guy… the one you're seeing?"

"Oh, well… I'd rather not divulge that until… I can tell him about you… and know he won't feel threatened. It's still very early in our relationship."

_Again, wasn't that just his luck? _He meets her just after she's met another guy! That was the story of his life, it seemed.

"So it's not… serious?" asked Peter, afraid she'd think he was prying.

But Leslie felt very comfortable with Peter. "No… no, it's not. We've only just kissed." _ Now why on God's green earth had she just said that? That was too much information! _She shouldn't be telling Peter such a personal detail. But at the same time, she felt that since she'd accepted a date with Peter, she should at least be upfront with him.

"Oh… well." Now Peter was _really_ at a loss for words. "I didn't realize…. If I'd known that I wouldn't have…" he didn't want to finish the thought. He was going to say he wouldn't have asked her out for ice cream if he'd known, but he was afraid that if he actually voiced it, she would agree with him, and then possibly not see him anymore.

Hell, he told himself. She's only _kissed_ the guy! It's not as if she's in a serious relationship—she'd already admitted that. And it's not as if I'm trying to whisk her away from him. But… he had to admit, there was still a shred of hope clinging precariously to his heart strings. He hadn't been able to think of much else since they'd gone to Smith's. She was beautiful, sweet, and she was interested in him! Interested in what he had to say, she laughed at his jokes, made him feel important, she made his shyness melt away.

Not knowing the guy made it easier. The other guy was faceless, and Peter didn't feel guilty as he would have if he'd known the guy personally. Wow, that guy was sure lucky—he'd gotten to kiss her! The thought of her kissing someone else made him slightly sick to his stomach, and mentally he pushed it away roughly.

_Why did he have to be so cute?_ Having him for a friend was nothing like having, say Mrs. Marston for a friend. He kept distracting her with his charming little anecdotes and then he'd smile and that dimple would pop up again.

"So how many siblings do you have?" he asked.

"None. I was an only child."

"My friend is an only child too." He was referring to Mike, but he made sure he didn't mention any names. If there were any hope of her liking him better than the guy she had kissed, he wasn't going to chance mentioning any of the other band mates.

"And you?"

"One sister and two brothers. They still live in Connecticut, where I was born."

"So you came to California by yourself?"

"Yep. I wanted to see the glamour of Hollywood, and California fascinated me." He'd _almost _mentioned he'd also come to California to find an avenue to success as a musician.

"Did it live up to your expectations?

"Yes, it did. The people are more friendly and laid back here. And you can't beat the weather!"

Leslie told him how she'd been born in California, and had lived on Malibu beach for less than a year.

"Funny I haven't seen you before," he said.

"I walk on the beach mostly at night, as you can see. I like the quiet, the serenity of the ocean at night."

"Me too. I think I'll start doing it more often." He wondered if she got the cryptic meaning behind his words. She wasn't married—she didn't even have a steady boyfriend. That made it a little easier for him to justify what he was doing… trying to win her over.

Little did Peter know that he didn't have to _try._ She was already enchanted with him. She felt no less affection for Michael, rather, she liked Peter in a whole different way. He was a delight to talk to.

They talked about a variety of things. There was never a lull in the conversation. Peter was fascinating. Leslie found he was quite intelligent; quick and brilliant with his responses. He might have been a little sheltered earlier in his life, and that showed up now and then, but his optimism and openness were so refreshing. And he'd been brave to come all the way to California on his own.

At the end of three hours, which had flown by faster than any three hours of Leslie's life, Peter asked for Leslie's phone number.

"If you ever call and I say you have the wrong number… it'll be because Michael, my friend is there."

_Michael._ Oh well, there was almost no chance it was the same Michael. It was such a common name.

"Okay, I'll remember."

When he got home, Mike was in the kitchen getting a glass of milk, stopped in mid-pour and gave Peter a direct look.

"Why are you walking on the beach at night, Shotgun?" he asked. "I didn't know that was your bag. Are you uptight about something?"

"I do it for the same reason you do… to relax." Peter avoided Mike's intense gaze. It was very late. It had crossed Mike's mind that Peter could conceivably run across Leslie out there, knowing that she walked Breezy every night. That was why he was looking at Peter so directly. But Peter would never have the nerve to approach her, and Leslie, he _hoped_, wouldn't be open to another guy's attentions. It had been hard enough work to get her to accept _his_ attentions, he reminded himself. And Peter wasn't self -confident enough to actively pursue a girl. He'd seen Peter lose his nerve many times when he'd been in an ideal situation to approach a female he liked.

After Peter went to bed, Mike lingered at the kitchen table. He hadn't been calling Leslie daily, fearing she'd grow tired of him. He was trying to keep it down to a few days a week, but that didn't mean he could stop thinking about her in between those calls. He couldn't. Giving in to the temptation, he'd called her house tonight and there'd been no answer. He'd thought about going out on the beach to see if he could find her. But then he restrained himself. He'd wait one more day and then try calling her again.

Talking to Mrs. Marston the next day, Leslie filled her in on Peter.

"Oh my… you've got _two _of them!"

"No, no Mrs. Marston. Like I said, Peter is just to be a friend. I don't really have any friends except for you, Veronica and Michael."

"But…oh, never mind." Mrs. Marston had been about to argue with Leslie about Peter, but she thought better of it and kept silent. The way Leslie talked about Peter… there was just something there that she would not have been able to define. It seemed Leslie was a little too fond of him. Mrs. Marston hoped Leslie wouldn't hurt Michael. She knew it wouldn't be intentional, but still… Leslie had confided to her that she'd kissed Michael, and now Mrs. Marston feared he might find out about Peter and be hurt again, as he'd been in the past. Now that he'd kissed her, he was very vulnerable. But she couldn't stick her nose into it…

Leslie still had not invited Michael to visit the homeless shelter with her. She wasn't sure why, but it might have had something to do with Michael not inviting her to the Pad, or to meet his band mates, or ask her to go to one of their gigs, even give her his phone number. She was mystified by it. Could he be hiding something? If he were married though, he wouldn't have taken her to the Pad that day-the one and only time she'd been there. There'd been no evidence of anyone living there but bachelors. Could he have a girlfriend? She hoped not, but if he were not going to share his life with her, she didn't see any reason to share hers with him. And that included the homeless shelter, and Mrs. Marston and Veronica. Too much was being held back, or hidden, for her to be comfortable.

Mrs. Marston and Veronica had asked Leslie why she hadn't brought Michael by yet. She tried to explain, but it didn't come out right. It sounded as though she were being spiteful. Maybe she was. It was much too early to be having communication problems with Michael! But if she brought the things up that bothered her, she'd sound bitchy. In the end, she decided to just let him reveal his life to her in his own time.

The next few weeks were problematic. She didn't want to invite Michael to her house, so they saw a couple of movies, went to the mall, went out for a couple of drinks once, and even went miniature golfing. They had a lot of fun. His nearness though, almost crippled her. She desired him almost unbearably, and the very air was thick with sexual tension whenever they said good night. It crackled all around them like static electricity. And that mysterious element remained.

When they had slow danced at a club, Michael had held her very close. Not indecently close, but not far from it. She felt the vibrations of need pulsing from his body to hers. He didn't try to conceal his erection from her. Dancing this close, it was impossible, anyway.

She'd only had two drinks, so that was all he'd had as well. When he kissed her good night she felt extra strong vibrations that told her he didn't want to leave. The liquor had made both of them reel from need even more than previously.

Over time, her trust in Peter grew, and she began to confide in him. They spent many hours talking. Somehow he worked it around the guys' practice schedule. She felt a reluctance in him, too, as far as revealing his private life, but since Peter and she weren't romantically involved, it didn't bug her as much.

He was always willing to listen, give feedback if asked, and reassure her things would work out for the best. She even told him she was afraid to invite Michael into her house because she was fearful of something happening between them. She didn't want to hurt Michael, and she didn't want to get hurt herself. She told him she felt Michael wasn't being straightforward with her. And that was stopping the relationship from progressing—at least on her part. She was protecting herself and Michael the best she knew how. And that was by avoiding being alone with him.

She explained how Michael hadn't invited her over or given her his phone number and that it really bothered her. Peter thought briefly about how he also hadn't invited her to the Pad or given her his number either, but these were different circumstances. He had good reason, although he didn't dare tell her them. Not yet. Not until he saw how things were going to go.

Peter was in a tough place. He didn't want to discourage her from taking things to the next level with her boyfriend, but he wanted a chance with her himself. It didn't look like that would ever happen, though, much as he wanted it. She never showed _that kind_ of interest in him. She would give him an affectionate hug when saying good night, but that was as far as it went.

She and Peter often went to the park, away from the beach crowd. They would use the swings, and Peter scared her with how high he tried to go. Sometimes he took both of her hands and swung her around him until her feet left the ground. Then they'd both fall down on the grass, laughing. They would tell each other every joke they knew (Peter kept the dirty ones to himself) and would even bring favorite books and read passages to each other. They had philosophical discussions, talked about peace, and everything they found beautiful.

They didn't venture onto the beach much anymore for fear they might come across Michael. Peter didn't feel like fighting for his life, and Leslie felt that Peter, being such a gentle soul, wouldn't have a chance in hell if Michael were to resort to violence. She doubted Peter even_ knew_ how to fight.

So far the scheduling was working out. Michael fell into a pattern of coming over to see her Mondays, Wednesdays and one weekend night. So she had Peter come over on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Peter would always call first to be sure the coast was clear. She felt terrible about it, but with things being tense between herself and Mike, a good time never seemed to present itself for her to tell him about Peter. Before she knew it, August was beginning. She'd met Mike in the spring.

The next time Leslie saw Michael, she knew she wasn't going to be able to fight it for much longer. He'd called, and she'd invited him over. He'd offered her the choice of what she wanted to do, but she wanted to be alone with him. She could kid herself for only so long. They'd been seeing each other for a long time now—almost 3 months, and she'd been running away from his overpowering magnetism. She wanted him, pure and simple, and she wanted him _bad…_


	10. Chapter 10

But first, she simply _had_ to talk to Peter. Peter, in his simplicity and complexity, might be able to shed some light on her problem. She'd seen him on the beach earlier, body surfing. She'd also caught him stealing a glance back at her house a few times as if wondering if she were home. His work hours seemed to vary. Sometimes he would call her earlier in the evening. Other times it was much later. Like Michael, he didn't seem to have any set schedule.

She didn't want to approach Peter on the beach for fear Michael would see her if he happened to be home. After all, he only lived half a mile away. She didn't know if Michael was practicing today, or if he was taking the day off. She went into her yard, played a bit with Breezy, hoping Peter would see her. He did. He saw him leave the beach, and not much later, her phone rang.

"I saw you, but I didn't want to come over… in the daytime. I know your boyfriend lives somewhere around here, doesn't he?" he asked. Leslie had told him of the way she had met Michael.

"Yes. There's always the chance he could see us… in the daytime. Can you come over, Peter?"

"Sure, if you're sure it's safe."

"He never comes over without calling… at least so far he hasn't."

"Okay, I'll be there shortly."

"You might have to hide in the closet—just kidding," she giggled.

Peter made sure the others were all occupied before he left for Leslie's house. They had taken a much needed day off today. Davy was somewhere on the beach, but not in the immediate vicinity. He was a born fish—probably way out past the waves somewhere. Mike was doing laundry with the used washer and dryer they'd recently gotten, and Micky was spaced out in front of the TV, trying to ignore Mike's bitching about having to do the laundry, because no one else would.

As Peter walked up, Leslie noted he came from the side of her house, not the front, so as not to be seen as easily from the beach. She was glad he was trying to be conscientious. But it made her feel even more guilty, even though she'd done nothing except omitting mention of her friendship with Peter to Michael. She shook herself in a self-scolding manner.

"I'm having some trouble with Michael, and since we know each other so much better now… maybe you can give me some advice?" asked Leslie after Peter had made himself at home as best he could. This was the first time he'd ever been inside her house.

He saw right away that all her curtains were closed. "Do you always keep your curtains closed?" he asked.

"No, in fact, Michael tells me I actually keep them open too often… I had a peeping tom a couple of months back, and now I keep them closed at night. They're closed right now because you're here, and… well, I don't want to take a chance."

Peter felt a pang of jealousy whenever she mentioned her boyfriend's name, but who was he to be feeling anything other than joy that she wanted him for a friend? He could easily not even have that much. He shouldn't expect anything more. He petted Breezy absently as he waited for Leslie to join him on the couch, carrying iced tea for both of them.

"Was the peeping tom caught?" The thought of another man looking in her windows incensed him.

"No… Michael couldn't catch him. He'd been on his way over when he saw the guy in action. Anyway, that's the main reason I got Breezy."

"Good idea."

"Actually, it was Michael's idea."

How he wished she'd quit talking about the guy!

"I hope I didn't ruin your day off," she commented.

"Oh no, I was ready to leave the beach anyway, when I saw you in your yard. Are things… are you… alright?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine. It's just that… like I told you before, I can't get Michael to open up. I always feel as though… he's holding back. And that makes me resentful. So much that I haven't even asked him inside the house lately. He's coming over tonight…"

Peter struggled to remain open-minded about this. He couldn't let his feelings color what she needed from him—support and advice. He had to be impartial.

"And you anticipate a problem tonight?" He wanted to plug his ears, afraid of what she might tell him.

"Well, yes… Peter, I feel comfortable enough with you now… to tell you… that…" she stopped to gather her thoughts and try to quell her nervousness. "He and I will be alone tonight… for the first time since…. we kissed in here, and…well, it got pretty intense, and I'm afraid he'll think I want to be intimate. And I _do_. I desire him like crazy. But these other issues get in the way, and they influence how I feel. I don't want this to be ruined. We've been dating a few months and nothing… has _happened_… in that way."

_Oh God. _Peter hadn't thought it was going to be this bad. He wanted her—just to kiss her would have been paradise, but here was she was, talking about being intimate with another man!

But he forced himself to work through it, wetting his lips with the iced tea, feeling like his tongue would stick to the roof of his mouth, or crack—so dry was his mouth. He tried to gather his thoughts. He had to make sure they were r_ational_ thoughts. He had to separate himself from it if he could.

"Well, maybe you should clear it up first then…" he said, literally pushing the words from his mouth. He couldn't make himself finish the thought. _That if she just went ahead and had sex with the guy, she might feel regret._ He didn't want to influence her in any way. He could give some vague advice, but in the end, she had to figure it out for herself. What she really wanted, that is.

"He's not being straight with me, like I told you before. He hasn't introduced me to his friends, or asked me over. And it bothers me… and I don't want to… be intimate with him when I'm feeling rankled about… his secrecy. It shouldn't be that way… it should be… special. Don't you think so?"

Peter struggled with this challenge—he really did. But the thought of her and this guy having sex—he _couldn't _think of it as making love, just _couldn't,_ made him want to scream at her to _please_ stop talking about it.

But she needed his input, so he pushed on and said what he would have said to anyone with a similar problem.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't…. do…. anything…. until you aren't feeling this suppressed anger anymore. Most important, you need to talk to him, Leslie. You need to…get how you feel out in the open."

Leslie liked Peter more all the time. There was a lot of practicality to what he said.

They talked a while longer, Peter trying to be as sincere as he could. He really couldn't be any other way anyway. Peter and sincerity were synonymous.

Leslie found herself lost in his eyes. Those eyes that showed such caring feelings. Those eyes that were so sweet, but revealed a trace of sadness too. She wondered what that was all about. She wanted to ask—but somehow knew he'd keep it inside. It had been all about her… they hadn't discussed Peter very much. Suddenly, she wanted to see inside him.

Peter realized her boyfriend would probably be showing up in a few hours, and he should get out of here so she could get ready, or whatever it was women did before their boyfriend came over. _Damn._ If only she were getting ready for _him…_

He got up from the couch. "I should be going," he said. Leslie felt a pang of loss. The magic moment when she'd tried to see into his soul was gone.

"Thank you so much, Peter. You just don't know how much you've helped. You reinforced… what I think I already knew… but was too… personally involved… to see it clearly myself."

She followed him to the door and then hugged him. She didn't know, _couldn't _know, how the hug tormented him, haunted him after he'd left. He'd wanted to keep her in his arms.

The firm knock sounded at about midnight, and it reverberated through Leslie's entire body, shaking her down to her bones. _Michael…_

She squared her shoulders, steeling herself for the discussion she knew she had to have with him. She opened the door, Breezy right there at her side, her plume of a tail slapping back and forth in silent glee. If she weren't such a noble dog, she would have whined softly. Breezy loved Michael. She loved Peter too, but Michael was really special. He was the one who had rescued her. Michael reached down and scratched her ear, called her a pretty girl, then hugged Leslie warmly, and closely. These close hugs were becoming a very pleasant habit. When the hug was over, she stood aside to let him in. Right away she could tell he was preoccupied.

"Can we talk?" were the first words out of his mouth. He'd never used this particular inflection before. His look was different too. Although usually appearing serious, he was almost somber tonight. He seemed troubled, and it concerned Leslie so much that she sat down on the couch right away, patting the space beside her, and nodding. "Of course. What's wrong, Michael?"

He cleared his throat as he sat down, then coughed gently through a dry throat. "Hang on just one minute," Leslie went to the refrigerator and brought him and herself a glass of iced tea—the same ones she'd used for Peter and herself earlier, she thought sheepishly. Placing the glasses on the coffee table, she turned her body and her complete attention to him.

"I feel bad about something," he began. His voice was gravely, shaky. "I haven't… treated you in the right way." He gaze drifted toward the direction of the ocean for a few seconds, then back to her. He brushed his hair back, as it was falling into his eyes. Momentarily, Leslie thought of Peter, and how he was always flipping his head, yet his blond crowning glory kept flopping right back down into his eyes. _Why had she thought that?_

"I know you must be wondering why I haven't introduced you to my band mates…. or asked you over… or asked you to come see us sing. I can feel it in you. Up until tonight, you haven't wanted me to come inside your home. You've been fairly obvious. I know you said it was because you didn't trust yourself… but…I think there's more. I haven't shared my life with you…."

Leslie was flabbergasted. She never thought he'd be so candid. Or know exactly what she'd been thinking these last weeks.

"Well yes, I _have_ wondered. I have to give you credit though… you _did_ hint at me coming to one of your gigs very early on."

"Yes, but I haven't since then. Let me explain… as you know, my past love life has left… a lot to be desired. My friends, roommates and band mates… since they're all three—are better liked by girls than I am. I'm not as outgoing and friendly, or in some cases… as flamboyant. (He was thinking of Micky when he uttered the last word). I don't… stand out in a crowd like they do. They're funnier, more entertaining, and better looking…"

"Wait… hold on a minute here! That's ridiculous! Even though I don't know them… I still know you're _really_ selling yourself short!" She shouldn't have interrupted him, since he was finally talking to her about it, but she couldn't help making that statement. "Now, go on… sorry I interrupted."

"Well, what I said is how I feel… so that is why I haven't asked you over to meet the guys. Or asked you to come to one of the clubs some night and watch us play, since that one time." He looked relieved as he sighed, as if he'd carried this burden around far too long, then leaned over to take a sip of his iced tea.

"My gosh, Michael! I had no idea… you felt that way. And it's terrible that you do. But at least now I have my answers. I'm so relieved…. I was afraid you might have some big, dark secret." Leslie almost winced when she said that, as just then, Peter popped into her mind again. She certainly had a secret of her own! She smiled at him, her tensions somewhat eased. The earnestness on his face was touching. She'd had no idea he'd thought so little of himself. Such a handsome man, and convinced the other guys he lived with were better than he!

"Well, David is the cutest guy most girls have ever seen… according to what the girls have told me," he smiled slightly. "In addition, he's social and entertaining. Charming. There's never a dull moment with either he or Micky. They always know the right thing to do and say. And they fast dance too. Another thing I don't excel at. And even Peter, who is shy and can't bring himself to talk to girls…is liked better than I am. He's very cheerful and fun once he's at ease. I appear sullen to a lot of people. Some even say I look… menacing. I know I don't smile enough… and that doesn't help things… but people are often intimidated by me. Even you were."

Leslie mulled this over. "Yes, it's true I was intimidated. You're tall, dark, and … sinister looking, until a person gets to know you. Especially when you don't smile," she smiled herself to cushion her words.

"That's the thing—I've been misunderstood most of my life. The only reason_ you_ came around… and tried to see the real me was because I chased you and caught you. Literally . You didn't have much of a choice." He laughed, but it had a bitter edge to it. "But the average woman… won't even look at me twice because I look foreboding. But anyway… that is what I wanted to say the first thing tonight. That I haven't meant to exclude you… from my life. I was just afraid…you'd like the other guys a bit too much. I wanted to keep you for myself. Still feel that way, in fact."

_There! He'd said it!_ It had been gnawing at him for the last few weeks. And now it was all out on the table. He felt like a ton had been lifted from his shoulders.

Leslie thought she must be glowing. "I feel so much better now… hearing that from you," she said. "But does that mean you aren't… going to introduce me to them?"

"Oh, I will, you have my word on that. But not yet. I'm not quite ready."

She could live with that. She'd wait until he could handle it. The important thing was, he'd bared his soul to her. That was a huge step in the right direction.

His leg brushed against hers as he leaned forward to the coffee table to put his glass down yet again. He was drinking too much, just like he'd done the first time he'd come over. Nerves. He wanted so much to kiss her, but didn't want her to think that was the only reason he'd come over. He'd come because he wanted to be with her, talk with her. Not that he'd ever turn her down if she went to kiss him—never! But he didn't want her thinking he wanted to jump her the second he got his foot inside her door.

"Lay across my lap," he said. "I want our faces closer together—I want to look into your eyes when we talk." He could scarcely believe he'd had the guts to say it. Leslie silently obeyed. As she did, her arms went around his neck—just what he'd been hoping for. She had to, or she would have fallen down onto the couch, and he knew it. He was a sly one, she thought dazedly, but she didn't mind. He slipped his arms around her waist. She was racked with sensations of hot, bold desire. It was building in her middle, and spreading out like warm water saturating her insides. Every nook and cranny. _She was sitting on his lap._

"What happened in your life to make you so unsure of yourself?" she asked. "Besides the lousy love life, I mean."

Michael adopted a faraway look in his eyes for just a few seconds, then his attention snapped back to her. "I'm not really sure…I have a pretty good idea… but it could just be my inborn temperament too."

"What's your idea?"

"My father."

"What happened with him?"

"He left my mother and me when I was three. Haven't seen him since."

"Oh, Michael. Obviously I didn't know that."

"You… what about your family? I haven't asked. How selfish of me."

"It wasn't just you…we haven't had a lot of deep conversations, really. I lost both my parents… they're both dead."

Michael was silent for a brief period, staring into space- then turned his head to hers, his eyes bright with tears he was holding back.

"I had no idea. I'm sorry. Why haven't we… discussed anything like this before?"

"I don't know. Neither one of us thought to bring it up…I guess."

"Well, I guess we were too busy worrying about me chasing you on the beach, and being sarcastic to each other," Mike said dryly.

"Well, do you know something? That night… that I drove about a mile away from here, to walk, so you wouldn't find me, I started to walk home, forgetting I was in a different area. I was that shook up. I didn't know where I was for a minute, then finally realized it and got in my car and drove back home."

"I shook you up that much?"

"Yes. You were so solemn, and in the dark… you looked even more dangerous."

"I didn't want to seem like I was stalking you… I just couldn't seem to stay away though. I saw where you parked."

"Ah, so that's how you found me," she smiled to herself, relishing the fact that he cared that much—to go to the trouble.

"You didn't tell me about any of your relatives either," he said.

"Don't have any left that I've kept… in touch with. I'm an only child."

"Wow…" he looked thoughtful. "I'm also an only child. And I thought losing my dad was hard. What you went through is a lot worse."

"Oh, I won't say it wasn't hard… but it might be why I'm so… solitary. I'm afraid of losing someone again. So I maintain my distance. Kind of… like what happened with you. Say, I never did ask you—I love your accent. Is it Texas?" He sensed she was trying to change the subject.

"That it is, ma'am," he drawled. She laughed, and before she knew it, he'd captured the back of her head and pulled her to his lips. He just couldn't wait any longer. He was careful, very careful. He'd timed it well, right after she'd laughed. Her laughter told him she was relaxing. Now that he was inside her home he feared she'd tense up, remembering how smoldering things had gotten the last time he'd been there. It might be too much—it might frighten her. But no… after kissing for a short while, she was every bit as receptive as the time he'd been shirtless—he'd never forget that night in a million years. The desire had been overwhelming—as it was fast becoming now.

It hit her like a burst of flame—the yearning. It was a bright and sudden flash, with no time to brace against it. And no hope of fanning it out, as it was already blazing hot. It was the night of the storm all over again. Now that he'd been open with her—she wondered… should she get closer to him? She didn't doubt he'd lead the way, but it had been so long…

The kissing was causing her to feel dizzy and weak. Mike's lips were caressing and tender, yet this was heavily laced with blunt lust. The way his mouth moved over hers…

He couldn't help it—he'd waited so long already. He held her tight against his chest, and she felt his chest rising quickly—felt his effort to slow down and give her time, but he was fighting a losing battle.

His mouth was doing wonderful things that made her think of lovemaking. His tongue was entering, teasing, begging for more. When his tongue started to thrust, he ripped himself away, at the same moment she started to object. He'd been about a second too late…

"I'm sorry… I'm becoming an animal. It's you—you have this… effect on me," he explained quickly, trying to get through to her that he wasn't usually this carnal, this… lascivious.

Even in the middle of all this incredible pleasure, Leslie couldn't help but think about all the guys she'd known that would treat her decently… until she went to bed with them. Then they'd treated her as not much more than a toy. She knew Michael wasn't like that. There'd never been any indication, and he hadn't ridden her constantly to go to bed with him. In fact, he _never_ had, but she'd been used, and it wasn't that easy to just disregard. To forget. She didn't want this relationship to turn out like that. If it did, she couldn't imagine how bitterly disappointed she would be. How heartbroken.

"I guess…. I'm just not ready yet, Michael," she bowed her head, not able to look directly at him. So, it was more complicated than him keeping his roommates and his life from her. She could see that now. That had been resolved, or at least they'd talked about it and she now understood his reasons for his actions. Yet she still couldn't let herself go with him. It was pretty obvious she still had demons to contend with.

"You don't have to do _anything_ if and until you're ready. We can… continue on the way we have. Going to movies, swimming, shopping, walking…. whatever you want. I _will not_ pressure you."

She'd never had a guy be so compassionate, and it brought her to tears. So she cried into the front of his shirt, and he comforted her the best he knew how. He rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. "The bad things will never happen again, Leslie. At least not with me. I promise you that."

It took a while for her to stop crying. She felt ashamed of her outburst. After that, they tried to talk, but words didn't come easily. Mike ended up going home much earlier than he usually did. She needed time alone, he could see that. Well, he'd have to "take matters into his own hands" tonight, or, as Davy had so eloquently said not that long ago, he'd get "blue balls."

When he got to the Pad, Peter was reading with his feet propped up on the couch. "You're home early."

Mike didn't answer. He just grunted and flopped down in the chair. After a few minutes, Mike broke the silence. "How come you and I take our beach walks on different nights?"

"Well, I don't want you thinking… I'm trying to be romantic with you by going along." The edges of Peter's lips tipped upward and his hand covered his mouth in a badly concealed smile.

The next time Leslie saw Peter, he was scared stiff that she would start telling him about her lovemaking session with her boyfriend. But she greeted him with something different entirely.

"Nothing happened. He was upfront with me about not wanting me to meet his roommates. It's because he feels inferior to them."

"Roommates? I thought you said it was his friends he hadn't introduced you to."

"Well, they are his friends too. Friends and roommates."

"How many roommates does he have?"

"Three."

Wow, this guy has three roommates, just like me, thought Peter. And he doesn't want her meeting them either. The same line of thinking that Peter had had about her meeting Micky, Mike and Davy.

"So why did nothing happen, if he was… upfront?" Peter knew he was tormenting himself, but he wanted her to know he cared, so he felt obliged to ask her about it, even if it pained the hell out of him.

"I guess it went a lot… deeper than I thought. I must still be uptight because of the guys who used me before."

During their long talks, Leslie had told Peter about that, and he'd had the hardest time trying to figure out why a guy would do that to such an outasite girl.

"So you… kinda…. froze up?" asked Peter.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I did. He went home not long after. We tried talking, but ... I guess we were both pretty upset."

"Why does he feel inferior to his roommates?" Peter couldn't quite hold back the curiosity.

"Oh, something about… them being more charming… better looking… none of which is true."

"How do you know it's not true?"

"Well I haven't met them, but he doesn't have to worry about anyone taking me away from him… no matter _how _charming or cute they are."

Now he wished he hadn't asked.

"Did he….he didn't try to… force you or anything did he?" In spite of himself, Peter felt anger rising.

"No, not at all. He was completely understanding. Said he'd wait until I was ready."

Peter pulled a grudging respect out of his gut for the guy, but of course he didn't say it out loud.

"So….what is your nationality, Peter?" Leslie felt it was time to take all the attention off her and her problems.

"Oh, German, English, a bit of Norwegian. And you?"

"German, English, a smattering of Irish and Scotch. So we have a bit in common there."

"Yeah."

"Peter, why have you not told me… what you do for a living? You seem to keep very odd hours."

Now Peter was really in a bind. He couldn't admit that he was in a band, because he was afraid of her wanting to meet his bandmates. And if he admitted that to her, she'd know he had a romantic interest in her. And he wasn't _supposed_ to—they were supposed to be friends only. Man, this was touchy. How to answer her without lying?

"I'm in between jobs now… sorta." Well, it was kind of true. They were always between gigs on weekdays, so technically, he wasn't lying.

So… he was out of work. How did he afford rent then? Food? He'd taken her out for ice cream too, and now she felt guilty about it. Could he be doing anything illicit? She couldn't picture Peter in that light, but you never knew…

"I'm sure you'll get a job soon, Peter."

He didn't seem particularly concerned about it, so she dropped it. Better to let him bring it up on his own, in his own time.

Now Leslie had all the more reason not to tell Peter Michael was a musician. She was afraid Peter might know him—the Monkees were becoming more popular all the time. They were quite the rage in town, and if Peter ever went out to clubs, he'd probably be familiar with the group. It had been in the newspaper, and she'd heard people talking about the band on the beach. Here Peter was—not working, and her boyfriend was in a rapidly up-and-coming band, an accomplished guitarist. If she told him, it would surely hurt his ego. Make him feel like a nothing.

Leslie was mystified as to why it was concerning her to this level. Unbidden, tenderness for Peter washed over her. He had been so supportive and willing to listen to her troubles. So protective—ready to rush to her assistance when she'd told him she was having problems with Michael. Had been afraid Michael had tried to force himself on her; she'd seen how red his face had gotten. Suddenly,she had two very special men in her life, and she wasn't prepared to give either one of them up…


	11. Chapter 11

_It was worth it. It was more than worth the inconvenience. Having her in his life._

Even so, Peter was afraid to drive the Monkeemobile. In fact, he was afraid to do almost everything, so he let Mike or one of the others do the driving, which wasn't difficult, since Mike drove most of the time anyway, unless one of them went somewhere alone. He was so paranoid of Leslie seeing him that it essentially ruled his life. He was always watching out for Leslie whenever any of them went somewhere together, ever ready to scooch down in the seat so she wouldn't see him in the car. He had decided he would pretend to pick something up from the floorboard so the others wouldn't think he'd lost his mind. They already thought he was a bit eccentric as it was.

He had to remain ever vigilant. He had to be even more careful about the beach, as she might see him hanging around Davy, Micky or Mike, and then want to get to know them. It had happened before. _But it wasn't going to happen this time._

Peter always called before going to see Leslie, but he lived in fear the boyfriend would show up when Peter was already there, or that the boyfriend would be at her house when he got there. What would happen then? Peter didn't relish the thought of having the shit beaten out of him.

Leslie wasn't sure exactly why she hadn't told Peter that Michael was a musician. Maybe she'd gotten into the habit of not being open and honest? Perhaps she was afraid of losing Peter-afraid Peter would think he wasn't good enough to be her friend, knowing her boyfriend was so talented musically-was in a band that was in great demand, at least locally.

She still didn't know exactly where Peter lived—didn't even know if he had a car. Didn't know his last name even. She was hesitant about asking him, as she had a feeling he wasn't proud of his lot in life at the moment. He never brought it up. She didn't know what kind of place he lived in. House? Apartment? If he had any roommates? Most bachelors lived very simply, and certainly not fashionably, so she assumed he was embarrassed to have her see his place. It might be run down. He might have a junker of a car too, although she'd never seen him driving around the neighborhood. Maybe he took the bus wherever he needed to go. So many questions remained unanswered.

She'd finally gotten Michael to admit he hadn't wanted her to meet his roommates because he was afraid of her being attracted to them, but Peter… he was not budging about telling her anything about his private life, much less even explaining why.

Leslie no sooner drove into the shelter's parking lot than Mrs. Marston and Veronica were upon her. It had been almost a week since she'd been here. She felt guilty, as if she'd deserted them. Mrs. Marston could tell almost immediately that Leslie was having man troubles. She didn't even need to be told.

"How are Michael and Peter? And have you told Michael about Peter yet?" she asked at her soonest opportunity, eyes wide, eager to hear more of Leslie's ongoing saga. It was her lifeline to life outside the shelter. An ongoing soap opera, only one she had a personal investment in. She cared a lot for Leslie. Almost as if the girl were a second daughter.

"They're both fine, and no… I haven't told Michael yet. And even more strangely, Peter hasn't even told me where he lives yet. I know almost nothing about the guy!"

"Isn't it difficult, making sure they don't connect?"

Leslie rolled her eyes. "Is it ever! I have to plan which days I'll see each one, and just hope Michael doesn't ask if we can change the schedule. Hasn't happened yet… but when it does, I'll have to make up an excuse, and I hate the idea of lying to him."

"And I wonder why Peter is being so mysterious," Mrs. Marston said almost to herself.

"That's a good question. Either he's embarrassed by something, or he has something to hide. But I can't imagine the latter, because he's always so open. So innocent-seeming. Wait until you meet him Mrs. Marston! He's one of the most down to earth, honest…." She struggled for words to describe Peter…"considerate people I've ever met."

Mrs. Marston didn't like the vibes she was getting. She feared something unpleasant—or worse, might happen. If Michael and Peter were to run into each other at the wrong time… it could end up badly—even tragically. Even if it hurt Michael—and she knew it would—she felt Leslie should tell Michael about Peter. But she couldn't tell Leslie how to run her life, now could she?

She finally got to meet Michael the next day. On a whim, Leslie had asked him to go to the shelter with her, unsure of what his reaction might be. He'd surprised her by agreeing immediately, without wavering. He explained they'd taken a day off from practicing when he'd called her. Of course he didn't know it, but Peter tried to call Leslie after he and Leslie had already left. No one picked up the line...

Mrs. Marston's quick evaluation of him revealed how naturally dignified Michael was, how mature, the moment he stepped out of the Monkeemobile. She'd already known he was tall, dark and handsome from Leslie's description, but she wasn't prepared for how imposing he was. His presence was almost overwhelming at first. When he arrived, you _knew_ it! He didn't give the impression he was one someone could easily pull something over on. That worried her. His intelligent eyes were everywhere—taking in every little detail around him.

But Mrs. Marston could certainly see why Leslie was so attracted to him. He oozed masculinity in a steady flow. Everything he did was slow and calculated. Everything he said was measured in a slow Southern drawl. He was intelligent and almost frighteningly articulate.

He wore a knitted wool hat that gave him character—let the world know he wasn't mainstream in a confident, deliberate way. On first presentation, he was a bit standoffish and cool as he sized you up. He wasn't exactly brusque, but decidedly discriminating and cautious.

What earned him major points was how proper and polite he was to Mrs. Marston and Veronica, even though he kept an emotional distance. He was guarding himself—Mrs. Marston could now see what Leslie had spoken of. He was a whole lot of man, and that tough exterior of his wouldn't be easy to break through. Yet Leslie had… Mrs. Marston mentally had to congratulate Leslie on having excellent taste.

But she could also see deeper than this. A glimpse of the man underneath. She saw a potentially passionate man who was enclosed by a mental concrete wall. He'd been hurt, alright, and she hoped Leslie realized they weren't surface wounds. They ran deep. His reserved, almost suspicious nature stated it louder than words.

Just as Mrs. Marston was mulling over how hardened he must be, Michael leaned over and rubbed Breezy's fur and murmured sweetly to her. A smile spread over her face. Ah-there it was! She could now see there was a softer side of him. And of course there was! Leslie had good taste. Under the hard shell, the man was really very gentle. He made her think of a clam who sometimes peeked out at the world when things looked safe.

Mrs. Marston admonished herself-of course Leslie wouldn't be interested unless there was tenderness to the man! She knew Leslie well enough to know she wouldn't waste her time with a tough, unfeeling ruffian.

Veronica was meek by nature, but when she saw Michael, she became positively timid. He appeared unforgiving and tough to her, and no wonder. Michael wasn't for the faint of heart.

But Michael seemed to know the effect he had on some people. He transformed then, right before Mrs. Marston's eyes. Shrewdly discovering how much Veronica liked animals, he used it to his advantage. Before an hour had elapsed, he and Veronica were out on the grounds, throwing a stick for Breezy, their laughter carrying to Mrs. Marston and Leslie, all traces of Veronica's fear of him having vanished. Mrs. Marston was astonished at Veronica's abrupt turnaround.

"I think she's in love with _both _of them!" cried Mrs. Marston, gesturing toward Michael and Breezy, through girlish laughter. She sliced Leslie a sideways glance. She saw that Leslie's brows were furrowed in thought.

"He doesn't laugh often, or even smile that often," said Leslie as she watched the two with her dog.

"Oh, I bet he smiles for you," Mrs. Marston teased.

"Well… yes, he does. But he's still pretty stingy with them. I think it's a habit."

"Yes, a self-protective habit," agreed Mrs. Marston. She knew about Leslie kissing Michael, and she wondered how much longer it would be before something more happened. She would know, even if Leslie didn't tell her. And Leslie was very much aware of that. Just try keeping anything from the ever heedful Mrs. Marston!

When they left, Mrs. Marston and Veronica stared after them, watching Michael open the car door for Leslie, waving at them with his ever present poise, winking teasingly at Veronica, and making her blush, then sliding into the driver's seat and rumbling off in his sexy car in a slightly dramatic cloud of dust. Except for the absence of a horse, in some obscure way, he reminded Mrs. Marston of the Lone Ranger. He certainly wore the mask, even though it didn't exist physically, but metaphorically.

"The man I'm going to marry someday…" said Veronica a little later, "will be just like Michael."' Mrs. Marston was stunned. Veronica had never said anything like that before about any man.

"I thought he scared you at first."

"Yeah, he did, kinda. But really... he's a sweetheart." Mrs. Marston had the feeling Veronica had summed the tall man up very well.

As if this weren't ground shaking enough, when Leslie brought Peter over the next week, Mrs. Marston was frankly staggered. Leslie had just not prepared her properly! Not for either one of them! But at the same time, she saw that she could never have been truly prepared.

Peter bedazzled her instantly. He was so much the complete opposite of Michael—everything from his hair to his demeanor. Yet every bit as appealing. Where Michael was tall, Peter was average in height. Where Mike was dark, with nearly black hair and deep brown eyes, Peter had delightfully blond hair with lighter streaks that caught the sunbeams with amazing brilliance. This was even more dramatic under the trees where shafts of sunlight would filter through and and splash over his hair. His eyes were hazel—changing their hue from minute to minute, and emotion to emotion.

But the most striking differences were in temperament. While Mike was naturally quiet and appeared almost brooding, Peter was forever smiling-exuding happiness and spreading it to everyone and everything around him. And his dimple! It rated right up there with some of the most adorable things Mrs. Marston had ever seen. He also had his pockets stuffed with candy bars that he gave to Veronica to keep for herself or distribute them as she saw fit.

Peter's personality was completely open—no dark corners, no shield. Everything was right out there for the world to see. Simple, pure, charming and… innocent? Is that the word she searched for?

Michael was all maturity—Peter was all about fun and laughter. He practically bounced when he walked. He constantly threw his head to the side to keep his abundant hair from obstructing his vision. Too cute. And that body—just about flawless.

No wonder Leslie was so taken by them both! If Mrs. Marston were 25 years younger, and she were lucky enough to have them both enamored with her, she knew she'd be in the exact same boat.

While others at the shelter had regarded Michael with slight apprehension when they'd met him, Peter had instantly won everyone's heart. The best way to put it, mused Mrs. Marston, was that Peter simply spread and shared his sunshine.

Veronica had no moments of uncertainty with Peter. It was immediately as if he'd been her friend all her life. When Veronica was showing Peter the ducks and geese by the pond, Mrs. Marston and Leslie could hear them talking faintly. Veronica was telling Peter all the names she'd given the fowl, and Peter showed rapt interest, pointing to each duck or goose and repeating the names back to Veronica without a single error.

"I'm speechless," Mrs. Marston said simply. There was really nothing else to say—there just weren't any words.

"I know," said Leslie. "Now you understand why I… _have_ to have them both in my life."

Shrewd Mrs. Marston didn't miss the way Peter looked at Leslie either...when he thought no one was looking...

For the first time since they'd become a band, the money was rolling in steadily. People flocked to wherever they were playing. Club owners were having to wait many weeks in advance to get a chance to feature the Monkees. Their gig pay was reflected in that. The boys could scarcely believe their fortune. All their hard practicing was finally coming to fruition.

"I'm gonna get a scooter. They're groovy chick magnets," announced Davy.

"I've got my eye on some far out cymbals I saw the other day—you'd oughta see 'em, guys. Man, you're gonna dig 'em," this came from Micky.

Peter and Mike were silent. Peter was thinking about what he might get for Leslie, racking his mind for something she'd really like.

"Man, you guys better be careful," drawled Mike. "Just 'cause we've got the dough now, doesn't necessarily mean things are gonna stay like this."

"What'd you spend your cut on?" Micky wanted to know.

"I put it in _savings,_ just like you guys shoulda done." Mike threw them both a demeaning look that almost made them wither; Micky felt small, even though he was only an inch shorter than Mike. Davy felt even shorter than he was. They both shut up for the moment, having been put in their place by Mike, a common occurrence. Mike had smoothly slipped into the role of leader very early on.

When Mr. Babbitt knocked on the door, Mike silently handed him the rent, a smug look on his face. Mr. Babbitt looked a bit taken aback. "On time this month, huh?" he asked. This didn't happen often. In fact, he didn't recall it_ ever_ happening.

"Am I at the right place?" Mr. Babbitt stood back as if to view the address.

"Very funny. We're finally getting successful. At least around town, we are," explained Mike.

"I read about in the newspaper. You're getting some good promotion. Might even have to get you a manager before long," said Mr. Babbitt.

"Uh… I don't think we need to start worrying about that yet. We're managing ourselves pretty well."

"Well, as long as you have the rent, I'm not complaining," and Mr. Babbitt was gone.

Michael's eyes roved over her just as naturally as you please when she opened the door for him. He still refused to just walk in-not feeling comfortable about it quite yet. He could forget to breathe while looking at her. In fact, he'd _rather_ look at her than breathe. Pink tank top, white hip huggers, fair hair loose around her shoulders and hanging down her back, a few dainty bracelets around her wrist, her signature cologne that he'd know anywhere. She looked so enticing… He yanked his eyes away, but not fast enough for Leslie to catch the hunger in them.

Now his eyes were unreadable. Able to change in a split second. He must be one damn good poker player.

"You look ravishing tonight," he said, a spark of humor coloring his words as he kissed the back of her hand gallantly, causing her to giggle. He half-noticed the fact that the lamp was already turned down low. Most of his attention was on her.

He was wearing a blue turtleneck and black jeans. And those sexy boots that always made her heart race. The click of his heels... She couldn't take her eyes off him. He was perfectly, beautifully groomed. There was a thickness in the air—an energy that had Leslie fidgeting. Made her feel high strung. Trying to hide it from Michael, trying to act casual, was becoming difficult. She was afraid he'd know she was restless, and, more importantly, why.

All was quiet.

"Touch me," he whispered. The silence once more engulfed them. She walked over and shut the front door, as they had been so wrapped up in staring at each other that they'd left it standing open.

She returned to him, stood in front of him, and her hand reached out slowly… ever so slowly. When it finally made contact with his upper arm, they both twitched with the shock of it. She ran her fingers slowly all the way down to his wrist. Not much pressure—just enough to caress. He took a deep breath. She watched his chest rise and fall.

"Hug me," he whispered next. This familiar game they'd played in the past hadn't been utilized lately. That was because they hadn't been coming inside her house. Tonight it evoked a new, deeper meaning. She hesitated, looking into his eyes for guidance. "It's okay." He practically purred those two words.

She went into his arms just as slowly as she'd reached out to touch him. Little by little. She saw the whisper of a tremble in him. The tension was almost unbearable. The hug instantly set her on fire. It happened so fast that it nearly knocked her off her feet. It was a close, needy hug. Yes, he needed her—she felt it. Not just physically, but in deeper ways as well.

He bent his head and she felt his warm breath as his lips began to kiss right below her ear, his respiration coming quickly, and she thought she was going to faint dead away. Her desire had risen, and spilled right over the top. He continued to kiss her neck. Every touch of his lips made her tingle dramatically all over, right down to her fingers and toes. She was unfamiliar with this brand of desire. Never knew it existed until Michael.

"Michael…" she said softly, and so breathlessly that her voice almost didn't come out. But it did, and he heard it. And responded.

"I need you," he said simply. A man of few words, but when he said something, he made it count. He led her to the couch, her legs quaking the whole way. She seemed to have lost the ability to navigate. Luckily the couch was only a few feet away.

They sat down. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, I'm good. Don't split for even a second... it'll be a drag."

"Why?"

"Because I want you here, beside me."

What he _didn't _say was that it had been far too long since they'd been alone. Going to the park, the movies, the homeless shelter, and of course, the beach at night were fine... but it was about time she stopped avoiding being alone with him. And that's just what she'd been doing. He was no fool. But one thing was for sure-he wasn't going to put the pressure on. She'd had that entirely too much with other guys. She needed to find out that she didn't have to be used by a guy, or be frightened by one either.

They sat there, side by side, and he slowly, deliberately put his arm on the back of the couch, and around her. She felt herself shaking inside, and prayed it didn't show on the outside.

"Tell me about your day," he was trying to put her at ease. Bless him for that, she thought.

"Breezy and I went to the park, then I went to get groceries. Real exciting," she knew it wasn't especially entertaining, but it was the truth.

"How did practice go?"

"Fair. Micky and Davy weren't in synch, and Peter messed up here and there... pretty unusual for him. He's had his head up his butt lately, but he's a good guy."

Leslie tried to picture the guys in her head. She knew Davy was short, because Michael had told her so. He was also the woman charmer, but she didn't know anything else about any of them. It would have been easy enough to stroll over to the Pad and watch until she saw one or more of them going in and out when they weren't at practice, but Michael had specifically said he wasn't ready for her to meet them. So she'd made up her mind she wouldn't try to sneak a peek. It didn't stop her from dying inside from the curiosity though.

After a while, Leslie nestled up to Michael's side while laughing at a joke of his that was even funnier because he told it with that deadpan look on his face. She'd used it as an excuse to get closer, yes. And she felt him tense up with the contact. His arm around her tightened reflexively; gettng her in closer was what he was aching for. Might as well go for it... the worst she could do was say no...

"Want to sit on my lap again?" He wasn't going to say "Like the night we kissed passionately," because that would be sure to embarrass her to no end. She still got embarrassed, but climbed onto his lap nevertheless, burying her face in his chest. He allowed it, his hand rubbing her upper back lightly. She'd lift her head when she was ready.

They talked quietly, Michael relaxing and enjoying the feel of her against him, careful not to reveal how incredibly aroused he was. He didn't want her to sense his urgency. He hadn't stroked himself today on purpose. He wanted to save it for her, if by chance something happened, although he had no doubt he'd be good for more than once. Funny, Davy was always commenting on how once he got started, he could have four or more orgasms within a couple of hours. Mike didn't doubt it. He had a feeling girls flocked to Davy not only for his looks, but also his expertise in the bedroom. He _ought_ to be good at it. God knows, he'd had enough practice!

But when Micky and Peter claimed the same thing, Mike had his doubts. They were young, yes, but young men tended to exaggerate too. One thing Mike knew for sure is that if _anyone_ could make him have multiple orgasms, it would be Leslie. He wasn't getting his hopes up though; Leslie had proved to be unpredictible.

He decided to do a little mild teasing to see what her reaction might be. He took her hand and held it for a few minutes, then casually placed it on his upper thigh. Not too high, but just enough to hint at intimacy.

She didn't pull away, but he felt her vaccilation. Or rather, _sensed _it. In the end, her hand remained there. Next, he caressed the base of her thumb with his own thumb. Even fluttered his fingers in her palm a bit.

"Your hands have their own... personality," she said.

"How so?

"Well, they feel good... the way you... rub with your fingers. It... affects me in a strange way."

She hadn't meant it to sound bold, but it excited him just the same. She was flirting, and he knew without being told that she was receptive to him.

"Warm in your belly? Tingly?" his voice was low and the sound of it enthralled her.

"Yes," this came out in a breathless whisper.

"I'd like to rub your lips in the same way... with _my_ lips." He waited for a response. This subtle mutual flirting was undoing him. The tenuous sexual overtones were arousing him more than if she'd blatantly come on to him. This coy act, the evasive bashful looks she was throwing him were driving him to distraction.

Her head had been off his chest for no more than two minutes before he placed his hand on her cheek lightly, easily catching her lips with his own. That was all it took. She was his. Their arms wrapped around each other, they gave in to the demanding need that had been pushed back with gargantuan effort for much too long.

His lips slightly apart, he wanted in deeper, wanted to taste her. Opening his mouth a bit more, he barely dipped into her mouth with his tongue, teasing, tantalizing her. Tormenting her. She thought she'd die with the sweetness of it. He urged her to open her mouth with a fervor he was having difficulty controlling.

Leslie had never been this wet in her life. Yet every time she tried to regain control, he gently encouraged her to accept the feelings and just go with them. He didn't have to say a word-his body language conveyed it all.

Little by little, his tongue had gained complete entry, and now rubbed along the side of hers. His tongue continued to explore, he nibbled her lips, he made subtle moaning sounds that made her feel frantic with need.

Her hands were rubbing his chest now. _Damn that turtleneck sweater!_ How was she going to get to his chest? She wanted a repeat of the last time they'd kissed.

Michael chuckled softly, smoothly lifting the turtleneck over his head. Underneath he wore a button down shirt. "It's a little cool outside tonight... and a little warmer in here," his voice was barely more than a whisper. He laid back on the couch then, and she followed him.

Now she busied herself unbuttoning one button at a time as they continued to kiss. When she had three undone, he gasped between kisses, "Touch my chest." The passion level rose so high Leslie thought the both of them would go up in smoke. Her hand crept inside his shirt, the feel of the hair on his chest familiar and reminding her of the last time they'd done this. She got all the buttons undone, opened his shirt and then lowered her head to his chest, licking as he squirmed underneath her. When her tongue touched his nipple he almost went through the ceiling. She teased it with the tip of her tongue until it was hard as a pebble, then sucked it into her mouth. His gasp and arched back told her he had been craving this since the last time...just as she'd been doing.

She spent quite a while licking and sucking his nipples, until he was virtually in a frenzy. His hips were rocking involuntarily against her lower stomach. If his crotch had been just a little lower, level with hers, he'd be dry humping her. _My God, he was fucking her with their clothes on! _She somehow never dreamed she'd see Michael in this vulnerable state. It was amazingly arousing.

His hands were creeping up her tank top in the back. _Oh my God._ She held her breath, reality really setting in now. When he discovered no bra strap, she felt his desire level go up yet another notch. His hands now slid around to the front, lifting her off his chest by a few inches so he could slip his hands over her breasts. Right before he did, however, he asked her softly if she wanted it.

"Can I do the same to you?" his voice stroked her.

She couldn't talk-so she just nodded her head slightly. When his hands came around to the front, she raised herself just a little higher on her elbows, straining, praying for that first touch. He didn't have much room to maneuver, so he rolled her over onto her back and pushed her tank top up to her collarbone, latching onto her nipple all in one movement.

"Ohhhhh...Michael!" She expected him to caress her breasts first, but he'd gone right for the gold. His tongue worked as hers had-licking as he sucked. The feeling was overpowering, and she felt it _everywhere_. After the licking stopped, he sucked steadily, self-assured yet so very gentle. Her nipples were very sensitive, and this kind of stimulation made her feel as if she'd go mad if he stopped, even for a second. She found herself arching her back as he had, clutching the back of his neck, begging much as he had, her pleas coming out in soft whimpers.

He readied her thoroughly. He sucked both breasts for even longer than she had to him. Toward the end, her moaning became noticeably louder, and suddenly she was gripping his shoulders with both hands, realizing she was building to climax. She began to tremble, a sure sign it was going to happen.

Frankly, he was amazed. He, of course, realized what was happening. He kept up his steady suckling until he felt her go over the edge and begin crying out, rocking her hips into him. If their bodies had been better lined up, and she'd rubbed herself against him, he probably would have erupted right along with her. Her orgasm was mind blowing. She cried out his name over and over. It was long and drawn out, the intensity astounding.

When she finally went still, she felt the heat rising up into her head. What must he be thinking? His huge smile gave her the answer.

"Man, you're really far out," he said tenderly. "I've never seen a woman who could do that before." He caressed her as he talked. "That was one of the grooviest things I've ever experienced."

She still didn't say a word, half embarrassed and half proud. But more embarrassed than anything.

"Michael... let's go... into my room." For some reason she couldn't get herself to say _bedroom._ Somehow it sounded so carnal.

She held her blouse to her chest, even though he'd already seen her. Into the bedroom she went, Michael following eagerly behind. She shut the door most of the way, leaving a crack so the living room lamp would afford some illumination, but not a lot. She adjusted it until it was perfect to her eyes-just light enough so they could see each other dimly.

"Are you sure?" came his voice softly from the bed. He was sitting on the edge of it.

"_Oh my God, yes_..." she came into his arms then. He pushed her away from him a few minutes later, after some serious kissing. She looked at him in wide eyed confusion. "Have to get undressed, I reckon," he emphasized his Southern drawl and made her laugh nervously.

She quickly shed her shoes, pants and underwear, lying down on the bed, under the sheet. She watched him free himself of his boots and jeans, then his underwear. That's when she couldn't hold back a small exclamation. Half gasp and half gulp.

Fully erect, and standing straight up to his belly button was the most beautiful sight she thought she'd ever see. Truly magnificent. He'd heard her strangled cry, and sought her face to see what the muted outburst was about. Then he spied where her eyes were, and smiled gently.

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle." He was used to this kind of reaction from women- he'd had lots of compliments. But it was special with Leslie-he was especially pleased she liked what she saw. Either that, or she was afraid of his size. It was hard to tell-the gasp could have been horror or delight. It was hard to tell what her expression was in the dim light, but he thought it was a little of both.

Then he was in bed beside her, pulling the sheet back so he had full access to her. She didn't protest. In fact, she eagerly came to him, wanting, needing to be closer. Michael began kissing and nibbling her neck again. His seduction had to start over somewhat, because of the brief break they'd had when they'd walked to the bedroom. He knew how women's minds worked. Everything had to fall into place exactly right, or the experience would be less than satisfactory. He wanted tonight to be perfect in every way.

The seduction could go faster now, as she was already very aroused. Just a bit of a boost was needed. So he relied on her reactions as to how fast to proceed. He kissed her passionately, then kneaded her breasts in his hands, kissed them again and again, then started to slide his body down lower. When he reached her belly button area, she tensed a bit. He rubbed his chest on her a bit, knowing she liked the feel of the hair. Then he rubbed his sideburns on her belly too. She moaned, and he knew that was a green light.

He placed his hand on her thigh, halfway up from her knee. Didn't move it-just let it rest there. When she relaxed to it, he moved it a couple inches higher. And on that way until he reached her sex. It had taken nearly ten minutes. But he wanted her willing, desperate for him, even crying out for him.

By now she was panting, and he knew she was more than ready-his slow moves having teased her to the point of her excitement when they'd been on the couch. When his hand cupped her between her legs, he felt her wetness. Lord, she was saturated! No way could a woman fake that-he felt ecstatic that he'd been able to have that effect on her. He was positively thrilled. He felt like the most desirable man on earth at that moment. But other women weren't important-being desirable to Leslie was all that mattered.

When he parted her lips, she moaned long and low. "Michael..." He loved it when she said his name in that tone of voice. He slipped a finger in slowly. She was so tight. And slick. He stroked in and out several times, until she was practically thrashing. Then he lowered his head and his tongue came out to lick greedily. Her cry was so loud it could almost be classified as a scream.

This was the ideal scenario-this is precisely what he'd wanted to happen tonight. Her wanting him as much as he wanted her. His tongue slipped inside, stroking in and out, then thrusting more vigorously, then sliding up to her clit. His tongue went to serious work now, sucking at the same time. He spread her legs more, mainly because he liked to see it-Leslie giving herself to him-it excited him so. She was already climbing the ladder to orgasm, and her legs spread even further apart on their own accord as she got closer to the summit. He sucked and licked faster, her hips bucking up at his face. She made soft wailing noises with every breath, until she reached her climax, and then she really let out some cries. The orgasm lasted a long time, and she had a lot of aftershocks before it was completely over, hips still rising from the bed, into his mouth. She'd called out his name again. Many times.

When it was over, he crawled up her body, not able to wait any longer. He'd reached the end of his endurance. He had to feel himself inside of her.

Her arms were open and welcoming to him. He found her opening and slipped in carefully and slowly, even though the suspense, the anticipation, was killing him. He knew he was big-she was tight, and he didn't want, at all costs, to hurt her. It took a while, but with gentle, shallow stroking, nature took it's course, and he was soon buried all the way inside her.

Her legs came up to his upper thighs, and locked there.

"Oh my God, Michael, it feels so good!"

"That's why I went so slow, Leslie. I'd... never hurt you." It was costing him dearly to hold back, but he wanted to at least be able to pleasure her a bit more in this way, in addition to the oral.

They moved together fluidly and easily. Mike knew he wouldn't last long, but he'd make it up to her the second time around. He gradually moved faster and faster, until the sounds of her wetness were clearly audible. It served to excite both of them even more.

"So good... it's amazing," she said. "Oh Michael, I want you to stay inside me... all night."

A few more good, hearty thrusts, and he came. He moaned softly and grunted a bit, but in general, he was fairly quiet. No problem-she'd change that in time. She was going to teach him to be as uninhibited in bed as possible...

Peter had seen them earlier. He'd come over without calling-something he'd never done before. He supposed he was so excited about a day off that he'd momentarily forgotten she had a boyfriend.

He'd come when it was nearly dusk. The door had been standing ajar, so he had stayed back, at a distance, watching. He saw the shape of a man inside, then he remembered her boyfriend. He'd seen them staring at each other like they were lovesick, but he hadn't gotten much more than a glimpse before she'd turned and closed the door. He hadn't gotten a good look at the man, but something about him seemed familiar. Through the picture window, he saw Leslie caress the man's arm, and then they'd embraced. It looked sensual even from here. Jealousy had ripped through Peter's gut so suddenly and strongly that it alarmed him. He couldn't have watched any longer even if he'd wanted to. Breathing with an effort, choking back a sob, he quickly, blindly, headed back for the Pad...


	12. Chapter 12

Blown away by the experience, sometime later, as they lay entwined, Leslie searched for words. What ended up coming out was,"You're a big teddy bear."

"Don't tell anyone... I have my reputation to uphold," he allowed his ghost of a smile to appear for a nanosecond.

"I won't. It's our secret. I think Mrs. Marston and Veronica are onto you, though."

"That's okay. They're special... otherwise they wouldn't be in your life."

Unexpectedly, Leslie's thoughts turned to Peter. Mike didn't know she had another very special person in her life, let alone a very attractive one. She didn't think it was possible to give Peter up. He was now a part of her life. He was too endearing, too rare. Even though, she was so very tired of sneaking around. But as she mulled it over, she knew she was playing a dangerous game. Both guys lived nearby. She knew in the back of her mind that it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed. She'd rather die than see either of them hurting…

But at the moment, Michael had lovemaking on his mind.

Before he had a chance to do anything, however, he found himself receiving a lot of kissing on his neck.

"Ohhhhh... keep doing that," he growled. She'd discovered something-he loved having his neck kissed! She'd already found two of his erogenous zones, she thought with pride. An erection within 30 seconds-yes, that was proof.

"You know... one time my roommates and I were messing around, it's pretty routine... just being silly and horsing around. Wrestling, tickling... It gets pretty wild around the Pad at times... I got really embarrassed, though, because everyone was wound up and laughing, and Peter licked my neck... he was just being goofy like the others were, but I got aroused. I mean, we all goose each other... stuff like that, but this was different. I don't think anyone noticed... my predicament, because I left the room right afterward, but... it was a _guy."_

Leslie was speechless. She couldn't believe Michael would admit such a thing to her. But she also felt honored, realizing he trusted her enough to confide in her about such a sensitive thing.

She didn't want to discourage his trust, or cause him to think she thought less of him, so she picked her words very carefully. She adopted a casual attitude and simply said, "Sounds pretty natural to me. I mean... if it turns you on, it turns you on, right?"

"I guess... I'm not a prude, as you know... but the fact that it was a _male _who turned me on kind of spooked me."

"Michael, I honestly think... you're making too much of this. Young men get turned on super easy, right? It's what I've always heard-that it doesn't take much."

"Well... I do know one thing for sure. Right now, _you're _turning me on." He began kissing her, the kisses minus the desperate urgency of a little while ago. He could take his time now without feeling like he'd explode from the get-go. It wouldn't have that, "Hurry, I need it _now," _component to it.

"I hope I didn't give you the wrong impression of me earlier... I'm not always so overly zealous. I was... it was just... it had been so long... and I wanted, _needed _you so badly...and you do something to me."

"It was so... exciting, Michael… I have no complaints." Against her will, she blushed.

"Well, we can be leisurely now... and take it slower this time."

The slow kissing felt like a drug. The warmth spread through her body. Leslie wondered how many women he'd been with. He didn't lack for talent in bed.

"Do you still respect me?" she asked with a smile.

"Of course I do... won't say I _never _have, but I don't fancy getting my lovin' on the run." What exactly what he meant by that, she wasn't sure. She'd have to think about it later, as right now Michael had his mind-and hers, on other things.

He pulled her over on top of him.

She tensed up. "Michael… I don't know…" He picked up on her distress and released her.

"Hold on a minute here…" He gently slid her back down onto the bed, on her side, so he could face her.

"Okay, we need to discuss this. What happened just then... what set it off? Now, I know you said guys have… been a problem for you, but the way you just reacted there, well, we have to talk about it. What did those bastards do to you? You got really uptight."

The woman was 29 years old, and was wasn't familiar with the woman on top position? More likely, it was fear.

"Well, like I told you before… they used me."

"I'd love to hunt them down… and strangle them," a muscle worked furiously in Michael's jaw. "They pushed you too, didn't they? Pressured you to do things... you weren't ready to do...were demanding. Wanted you on their terms. Am I on the right track?"

Leslie was amazed at his perceptiveness.

Yes, but wait…it wasn't all their fault. I wasn't exactly an angel. When my parents died, I was a little wild for a while there."

Michael thought for a moment. "You know why you were wild, don't you? I'm no psychologist, but this is pretty apparent to me. You were grieving... I take it you were very close to your parents?"

"Yes."

"Okay, you lost their love when they died. You had no family left. You were looking for the love you were used to getting. Leslie… can't you see? That's why I'm wigging out right now. Those guys took advantage of your fragile state. I would_ never_ push you. I want your trust… and I'd never expect anything of you that you don't want and desire from me. Trust is where it's at. I know my hurt was far less... dramatic than yours was, but it's going to take a little patience on both our parts."

He was _still_ willing to wait for as long as it took for her to realize he would never hurt her, either physically or emotionally.

Leslie wanted him to know, however, that she _did_ trust him-it just might take a little longer for her to drop her inhibitions.

"I need time to feel completely comfortable," she said. "Hey..." she teased. "I'm not the only one who needs to work on this. You need to let go more too."

"I _have_ been holding back a bit for fear of appearing too eager, and reminding you of... well... whatever you went through," he reminded her.

They made love again. It was sweet, slow and thoroughly enjoyed in an entirely different way from the frantic feel they'd had earlier. It was just as exciting, but in a more subdued, loving way. Michael knew all the right things to do, and he soothed away any doubts that she might have still been hanging onto deep inside.

He didn't stay overnight, but went home a couple of hours later. She hated to let him go, but he needed to get up early tomorrow. They were going to put in more practice than usual, get some kinks ironed out, then get home a bit early for a nap before their gig tomorrow night.

The week that followed found Peter and Leslie growing ever closer. She felt she could talk to Peter about just about anything. Peter had come to terms with what he'd seen outside her house that night, hard as it had been. He'd shed a few tears over it, agonized over it, but gradually realized he couldn't let it break him. She had, after all, told him she had a boyfriend. And he had no claim on her anyway. He had no right to feel hurt. The rational part of his mind told him that, yet the hurt lived on, carefully tucked away so Leslie wouldn't catch wind of it. She hadn't ever said, however, that she was going steady with the guy, so he clung to the hope that he still had a ghost of a chance.

When she told Peter she and Michael had made love for the first time, it stung like a son of a bitch. Hearing it made him want to plug his ears. He'd known it would be coming, but nothing could have readied him for it.

"Peter, I've never asked you this before, but do you have a girlfriend?" she finally asked him this question she'd been wanting to bring up. She was terribly curious about his private life, as he seldom mentioned it in any way.

"No... I'm really too shy with girls."

"But you weren't shy with me, the night we met."

"Yeah, but... it was dark, and Breezy was there, so that made it a lot easier."

"Have you had girlfriends before?"

"Well... sort of, and sort of not. You know, just..." he couldn't finish the thought.

"Casual?"

"Yeah.. sometimes I'd take a girl to a movie now and then, but it was never serious. When we... well, when we... did it, somehow it didn't seem right."

Leslie held back a smile. Peter was so sweet when he got bashful about things.

"Because there weren't real feelings there?"

"Yeah, I guess. It was too... like you said, casual, or something. One girl was really aggressive, and it was over really fast." Now he had turned a dark scarlet.

"Well, that's normal at first." For some reason, talking to Peter about these things didn't make her uncomfortable. He wasn't as intense and intent on her reactions as Michael was. He was also nonjudgmental. Not that Michael wasn't, but that air of innocence in Peter seemed to put her completely at ease. She felt more power with Peter, maybe because he leaned on her more. Michael, however, self-sufficient as he was, probably had more experience than he let on, even though he said he didn't "get his lovin' on the run." Perhaps Michael had gone through an untamed phase that most young guys usually did, and was more mature now, and edging toward settling down a bit. But she was realizing now that Peter was at a very early stage. It hit her like a hammer. Peter had only had a few sexual experiences, and she sensed his disappointment with them-heard it in his voice. Then something crossed her mind that numbed her with shock. What would it be like to "introduce" Peter to intimacy? _Good_ intimacy-not the kind of rushed, unfeeling experiences he'd already had? Some lucky girl would someday get to do that.

She shook herself, almost like a dog. It presented itself as a shudder that Peter couldn't help but notice.

"What's wrong?"

"Um... I really can't tell you, Peter. Maybe... some day. But... what I wanted to say is, you need to get more comfortable with girls. It will come with time. It's not supposed to be like... how it was with you. And it won't be... when you find the right person."

Peter didn't say anything, but his mind was churning furiously. He wanted to blurt out that he felt _she_ was the right one. Little did she know, thought Peter, that he was more comfortable with her than he'd been with anyone. He wanted to learn about love-and lovemaking. And how he wished he could venture there with her.

When Leslie went to visit the shelter a few days later, Mrs. Marston's quick evaluation told her immediately that Leslie and Michael had been intimate.

"You're glowing. He must be a very good lover," Mrs. Marston said gently.

"My gosh... how can you tell?" Leslie was jolted. This lady was really on top of her game!

"Like I said, you're glowing. Everything about your demeanor tells me something special happened... and the most obvious thing would be Michael."

"Okay," Leslie gave a nervous giggle. "You caught me. And yes, he's a wonderful lover. He's actually rebuilding my faith in men... something I thought wouldn't ever happen."

Mrs. Marston smiled. She, of course, knew about Leslie's past. "Michael is a good young man... but what about Peter?"

"What _about _Peter?"

"You still haven't told Michael about him, have you?"

Leslie slumped down a bit in her seat, her eyes on the ground. "No... no, I haven't. I just haven't found the right moment to do it." Leslie plucked a piece of grass and studied it, avoiding Mrs. Marston's eyes.

"You probably never will find the _perfect _moment, but Leslie... what if Michael finds out on his own? You'd be more likely to lose him than if you were straightforward with him... and told him yourself." Mrs. Marston hoped she wasn't being too intrusive, but she just couldn't stand the thought of Michael being hurt again. That young man was scarce, most notably in this time of youthful rebellion.

"You're right, of course. You always are. Maybe I'm also very afraid of Michael telling me I can't have Peter for a friend."

"I don't think Michael would do that, but...I think... there's something I should tell you," Mrs. Marston looked ambivalent. She knew what she wanted to say, but didn't know precisely _how_ to say it. She could no longer be silent about this-it went against the grain; the situation felt almost ominous to her. She felt a pressing need to inform Leslie of what had been going through her mind for weeks.

"I think things have gone a bit... farther than you realize," she started out haltingly.

Leslie threw her a puzzled look.

"I do think you should have told Michael about Peter way before now... but that's not what concerns me the most. What I'm trying to say is... well... I think you feel more for Peter than you _think_ you do."

Caught unaware, and then flabbergasted, Leslie didn't show any reaction at first. She must not have heard the older woman right. Sure, she cared a lot for Peter, but not in _that _way!

"Mrs. Marston, you can't be serious!" Leslie realized, under Mrs. Marston's unwavering gaze, that she really _had_ heard her right. "But that's not true! Peter is like a brother to me. The brother I never had." Leslie felt a touch of annoyance, but only a touch. She'd never known Mrs. Marston to be wrong about anything, but this time the woman was certainly wrong. There had never been anything more between herself and Peter than long talks, playfulness, and a hug at the ends of their visits. Mrs. Marston was completely off track. She told Mrs. Marston so, but with the same respect she always showed her.

Mrs. Marston just shook her head slowly and changed the subject.

"David, get _out_ of there!" Peter wanted to go into the bedroom and take a nap. He'd been up since 6 that morning, practicing, and he was tired. Besides, he wanted to fantasize about Leslie before he fell asleep.

Davy was in their bedroom with a girl, and ignoring his repeated requests. That guy never ran out of energy. It wasn't as if it had been an hour-it had been _three _hours, and they were still going at it in there, full steam ahead. Peter felt like he was going to blow his top. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he was envious?

"Hey Pete, you can use my bedroom," Mike appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Micky'll be gone for at least another couple of hours."

"Hey, thanks, Michael. It's a bummer David has to have so much endurance." Peter bounced down the stairs.

Mike smiled. Peter said some of the damndest things. They brushed past each other in the hall as Peter made his way to Mike's room. Mike smelled good-that cologne had such a masculine, yet natural smell to it. Kind of like a combination of the ocean, the mountains and the woods, reflected Peter. He liked the warmth of Mike's body too. Although Mike felt a bit awkward and ill at ease while passing Peter this closely, Peter, on the other hand, treated it the way he saw it-as just a really good feeling. Mike made him feel safe, accepted. Peter didn't have a whole lot of inhibitions. He was usually spontaneous, true to nature, and was free from artificiality. So when something felt good, he usually just went with the flow. Unless, of course, it was something he felt was clearly wrong. And this, he didn't. And Mike couldn't help but love that about Peter.

Whereas Mike stiffened a bit as they brushed by each other, Peter remained relaxed, not even trying to squeeze through without touching Michael, as most people would have done. The best part of it was, Peter was just being himself, thought Mike. For the millionth time, Mike wished he could be as uncomplicated as Peter.

"Can I start seeing you more often?" asked Mike on the phone. Uh-oh, this was it- the day had come. If Mike started seeing her more often, that would mean less time with Peter. She already gave Mike one more day a week than Peter, but if she saw Mike more often, there would only be so much time left, and other things had to get done. Housecleaning, laundry, grocery shopping-they all required her attention and time. But the hours spent talking to, and doing fun things with Peter were something she really looked forward to, and she was not willing to give it up.

Peter made her laugh. Not that Mike didn't, but their senses of humor were different. Peter's was innocent and light, even goofy; Mike's was sarcastic and dry. Not to mention deadpan. It was a delightful combination, the two of them.

Leslie's mind snapped back to what Michael was saying on the phone. He didn't know Peter was sitting right there beside her, trying to busy himself with a magazine, but nevertheless listening because he just couldn't stop himself.

"So you want to see me more often after practice?" Leslie repeated it for Peter's benefit. Peter's ears perked up. Practice? He wondered what the guy practiced. And the guy was asking for more time with her, too. Peter sighed. He guessed he should have asked for more time first. When would he learn to stay ahead of the game?

Leslie agreed, since there was really nothing else she could do. After she got off the phone, Peter had questions.

"Is the guy a doctor or something? Practicing medicine?"

"Peter, you've told me almost nothing about your private life, yet you want to know about Michael's?"

"I have a very good reason not to... tell you certain things."

"Peter, what's your reason? I think I've been patient long enough."

"Well... you won't tell me anything about your boyfriend."

"That's different. You know all about _me_, why do I need to tell you about _him_?"

She had him there. Peter couldn't think of a retort, or a single thing he could tell her about his private life without letting her know he had three roommates.

"I live in a house," it wasn't much, but it was better than nothing, thought Peter.

"Wow, what a lot of information. Why are you so secretive? Are you embarrassed about something?" As shy as he was with women, she couldn't imagine he already had a girlfriend. He might be cute, but he wasn't the smoothest operator around. Not by any stretch of the imagination could she picture him being the playboy type. He'd have to be one very brilliant actor, if that were the case.

So that was the way it went that night. Peter would not give in, and neither would Leslie.

Peter was miserable, and it showed. "Leslie, I'm not trying to keep anything from you on purpose. I wouldn't ever do that." He looked so forlorn that Leslie caved.

"Okay, Michael is in a band. That's what he practices-his guitar. Now you know what he does."

Peter's look was not only confused but a bit dazed too.

"Really? He plays guitar, and he's in a band?"

"Yes. I didn't tell you that before because... well... I thought maybe you'd feel bad about it. I don't even know what you do for a living, and Michael is becoming... successful..."

_No, it couldn't be the same Michael._ There were lots of bands around, and lots of guys named Mike. Peter's common sense told him chances were very slim it was the same Mike he lived with-his good friend. Even so, just the thought of something like that really disturbed him.

Leslie expected to get something back from Peter-some piece of what his life entailed, but Peter remained silent. Leslie knew she'd blown it. Peter was jealous alright-just as she'd feared he would be. She had no doubt he felt insignificent after hearing about what her boyfriend did.

They ended the evening early. Both were feeling moody. Peter was hardly ever this way, and it made him feel terribly guilty. He wished he could offer Leslie more information, but it just wasn't possible. Another thought occurred to him-what would Leslie think if she knew he was _also_ in a band? And played bass guitar? Peter had been looking forward to the day he could tell her he played bass-and watch the look on her face. He was proud of his musical abilities. And now... he finds out her boyfriend does the same thing? Hell, he just couldn't win!

Friday night after the gig, Mike came walking right in Leslie's front door-something she'd been telling him to do for months, but he hadn't heeded. He was eager-it had been a week since they'd had that glorious night of lovemaking, and all he had thought about since. He'd taken her to dinner last week one night, and a movie another night, kissing her good night at the door. He'd wanted to give her a break. He knew she must be somewhat sore-after all, it had been a long time for her. But also, he wanted her to know he wasn't just coming over for sex-he wanted a relationship. Ultimately, he was looking for love, and he felt putting no pressure on her sexually would help convince her just how serious he was. They hadn't talked about love yet, of course. It was way too early for that, but he wanted to build a solid foundation, with the hope that things would turn out.

And now, a week later, which felt much longer than that, he was chomping at the bit with desire. And the moment he looked into her eyes, he could see she was too. He slipped his guitar strap off his shoulder, turned it around, sat down on the couch and began playing and singing her ballads that caused a funny feeling in her stomach, made her blood flow like champagne through her veins. Intoxicating her slightly.

After a few songs, he paused and just stared into her eyes. She wanted to look away, but she wanted him to know she was sincere, so she kept her eyes on his. He propped his guitar against the coffee table, then asked if she wanted to sit in his lap.

When she did, she instantly felt the insistent pulsing against her thigh, and knew his desire was completely lit, like a dry, hungry candle wick catching the flame.

Suddenly, she wanted to feel it. That hard pulsing against her. She shifted her bottom a bit toward the direction of his knees, clearing a space at the junction of his thighs, and brushed her knuckles against the firmness in his pants. His breath hitched, thinking she had done it mistakenly, but quickly realizing it was intentional when her knuckles gave way to her fingers.

She barely touched him at first, but within a few heartbeats, she was gripping him through his pants, and Michael was speechless, never having thought she would be so bold. The gripping turned into gentle rubbing.

_Oh Lord, I can't stand this!_ He tried to talk, but found he had no voice.

"Don't stop," his voice finally obeyed him, but it came out as a mere whisper.

Leslie continued to rub. She was mesmerized by the way Michael seemed to be paralyzed with pleasure. She was astounded she had the power to do that to him! It gratified her in ways she never thought possible. The gentle squeezes and steady, consistent rubbing were putting Michael in danger of bursting.

Luckily, Leslie recognized his precarious state and ceased her stimulation long enough to do some wild kissing. Michael could hardly keep himself in check, but, fearing he'd appear too animalistic, he tore himself away from her.

"Woman, what you _do_ to me! You're making me crazy." His words were a plea-a plea to her not to continue, or he might totally lose control. What he didn't know was how much she loved it. She'd loved touching him there. Now that she no longer feared him, she wanted his passion. All of it.

"Michael, I want you."

Okay, there was only so much a man could take before he came undone. Michael lovingly picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

He watched her undress, his eyes never leaving her. Her medium-small breasts were just the right size to fit nicely into his hands. Her large pink nipples-succulent. Shapely legs and rear end, nipped in waist, and her hair falling down her back as she lifted her garments over her head and shed them, quickly hiding under the sheets, just like last time.

No more of that. He stood over her, tugging the sheet down so he could look at her...his eyes took in everything. They looked stormy to Leslie, but in reality, they were cherishing her. He was concentrating so hard that he looked as if he were angry. The appreciation though, became apparent as he kneeled down next to the bed and she saw his eyes up close. There was a tenderness there that she never would have thought possible on that spring night three months ago when he'd chased and caught her. She couldn't remember a time she'd been so afraid. But then when he'd let her go, breaking his grip, she'd realized right then that he was special. Maybe not consciously, but in the back of her mind...

"Michael, get undressed." She didn't have to ask twice. He was naked within a minute, standing there beside the bed, in all his erect glory, proud of the proof of his considerable desire for her.

That's when she reached out- haltingly, and touched him. She hadn't done much of that at all the first time. She'd been charmingly bashful, but now... her fingertips caressed his entire length. From tip to base. It was hardly more than a tickle. Michael shivered. He sure hadn't expected this. She moved closer to the edge of the bed...

Michael remained stationary, letting her explore. It took nearly all he had not to move, but he wanted her trust-would love her to adore him as he adored her...

Her hand and fingers continued to caress, then her hand enclosed his cock, gave a little squeeze, then began stroking lightly. Barely there-a very loose grip that really couldn't be labeled a grip at all. It was more a _suggestion_ of a grip. And it was killing him not to jump on her. Was she teasing him purposely, or just examining him? From what she'd said about her past, sex had hardly been sensual. More mechanical, a release for the man. And nothing for her. No wonder then, that she'd been so hesitant about taking their relationship to a higher level. He'd indulge her-let her do as she pleased, no matter how much torture it was for him.

_Christ._ She slid even closer to the edge of the bed. He didn't know how much more of this he could endure. She was less than a foot away from his jutting cock. Right then, she drew even nearer, and he felt her breath, like a whisper, on the tip of his cock... as she kissed it. Nothing more... just a simple kiss, like a peck on the lips. Well, he reasoned, maybe she didn't know... certain things.

That idea was dispelled abruptly a moment later when he felt something moist. His vision was obscured by her head, which blocked his cock from his view, but there could be no doubt if he were to judge by the feeling. How long had it been since he'd felt this much buildup? A very long time.

A moist mouth followed-soft and tender, and barely there. He was going to go bananas if she didn't apply more pressure. This was teasing in it's worst form, and he almost had to physically hold his pelvis back with both hands to keep it from thrusting involuntarily.

Then, the fleeting dream actually came true. She enclosed the head of his cock with her mouth. He thought he'd surely scream in ecstasy. What floored him the most was he had loving feelings right along with the lust-something that had never happened to him before. The emotions were eclipsing the desire. _How in hell had she accomplished that?_

She began to suck slowly. So slowly and sweetly that he could actually _feel_ her arousal. Mike had enough experience to know when a woman is not totally into the experience. Women had rarely been able to fool him. The manner in which Leslie sighed, the way she moved her body, the way her tongue swirled and teased- the small noises she of pleasure she was making-it was all born of genuine want. It wasn't a show. And that was more exciting than _anything_ she could have done to him.

Faster now, more suction, tongue licking up and down his shaft simultaneously. Her little moans vibrating through his cock. He felt the pre-come leaking out, felt her lick it, and that blew his mind. Why, she wasn't inhibited in the least! She'd just had shitty, selfish partners!

He was getting close-too close. He eased himself down on the bed, temporarily breaking the connection. When she took him into her mouth again, he laid his hands on the back of her neck, not directing, but letting her run the show. Just letting her know how much he was loving it. More frequent moans escaped him that hadn't previously.

"Ahhhh... Leslie... You better stop, darlin.'"

Oh, she loved that! Him calling her darlin' was so sexy, so... _Michael._

He kissed her neck, explored her mouth with his lips, his tongue, now unafraid to use thrusting motions with his tongue. He felt sure she'd respond favorably, and that was an understatement. He licked and flicked her nipples with the same tongue that was going to venture further.

Down her stomach he went, stopping at her navel to stick his tongue inside. She didn't giggle, but accelerated her breathing, and he knew she was expectant of what would come next.

He maneuvered himself between her legs and his tongue separated her lips, gaining him access to the profuse wetness he knew would be there. It was. He felt his pride swell with wonder at the effect he had on her. He licked thoroughly, with abandon, then worked his way up to the button he knew was swollen and straining for the touch of his tongue.

Leslie arched her hips before he even touched her clit-there was no way she could have stopped herself. When it finally found it's mark, she cried out. Michael had a hell of a time keeping her still enough to keep his tongue on target. He braced his arms on her wide open legs and sucked, flicked and licked her clit in unison. He thought she was going to shatter into a million pieces, the way she was carrying on. He hoped she'd come soon, as he was close to bursting himself.

The wait wasn't long, and the reward was great. When she came with violent thrusts, she actually squirted a bit into his mouth. This was so arousing to him, as he'd never experienced this before. Another first! Leslie was chock full of surprises-very sweet, hot surprises.

Michael shimmied up her body, hardly able to restrain himself long enough to gain entry. He wasn't able to go slowly this time-it seemed he was even more crazed than the first time.

"Am I hurting you?" his voice cracked with the effort of governing himself.

"No, Michael... no."

He tried to be gentle, but ended up sliding in with gusto in one stroke. When he felt that she was tolerating it more than well, he drove home again. Not rough, but not leaving any doubt as to his impassioned state.

They moved together, getting out of synch now and then, but for the most part, keeping the rhythm.

"Leslie... Leslie," Michael nibbled on her neck, propped himself up on his elbows and began to thrust like he meant it. Leslie's legs climbed higher than previously-around his waist. This position was ideal for him to angle himself to hit her G spot. And when he did, she rolled her head from side to side on the pillow, clearly enthralled. He gripped her in a place that no one else had emotionally-and physically.

When her cries got louder, he knew she needed relief. It wasn't easy to get her to orgasm through intercourse, and he knew that was normal for some women. So he let himself go and thrust at lightning speed, their flesh slapping together audibly, greatly enjoying the sensations until he knew it was too late to turn back. That was when he buried himself to the hilt and ejected his seed deep inside her.

Leslie felt him pulsating inside her, and she contracted her special inner muscle so he would get as much enjoyment out of this as possible. His moans-a little louder this time, told her the inner squeezes she delivered heightened his desire even more. A few more thrusts, and he collapsed over onto his side. Immediately though, he went down again and brought her to another insane orgasm. She was jolted that he would do that right after coming inside her, but it didn't seem to hinder him a bit. He licked her slickness with obvious enjoyment, then after she had one more orgasm, slowly licked her clean of all traces of himself. Glorious...thought Leslie. Three glorious orgasms.

Then the telephone rang...


	13. Chapter 13

Michael laid completely still as the phone rang once, twice, three times. Leslie was afraid to move a fraction of an inch. As if moving would make the phone continue to ring. If she stayed very still, it might stop...

"Are you going to get it?" Michael finally asked.

"Oh... yeah...I'll be right back." Leslie took her time getting out of bed and putting on her bra and panties, still self conscious about Michael seeing her nudity, which was ridiculous... they'd made love! But she felt his eyes on her, and that caused her bashfulness to surface. She was also stalling, hoping the phone would stop ringing. But it didn't.

When she picked it up it had rung nearly a dozen times.

"Oh thank goodness. I thought something might be wrong," it was Peter's voice.

"I'm sorry, but you must have the wrong number," Leslie laid the phone back in it's cradle. Her words would let Peter would know Michael was there, as they'd discussed this possible scenario before. Nevertheless, she still felt terribly guilty and almost sick when she hung the phone up. Peter knew she was seeing Michael tonight-she wondered why he'd called. Had he forgotten? Or could something be wrong?

"Wrong number," she said as she climbed back into bed with Michael.

"Bad timing too," quipped Michael. "I was just starting to get into the afterglow."

Leslie smiled. Michael casually unhooked her bra in one second flat. Well, that spoke volumes for his level of experience. "No bras allowed," he drawled lazily. They lay together for another three quarters of an hour, until Michael stirred, kissed her cheek, then sat up on the edge of the bed and began to dress.

"You aren't going to spend the night?" Leslie felt a pang of disappointment.

"No, I have to retain some of my mystery, or you'll tire of me," he said lightly, but Leslie sensed he was more serious than he sounded. Well... he would have to decide when he felt secure enough with her to spend the night, she thought.

As it turned out, it was a good thing Michael left when he did, which was about ten minutes later, because no sooner had he gone out the door that the phone was ringing again. Locking the door to make sure Michael couldn't gain entry should he come back for any reason, thus giving her time to get off the phone, she picked it up.

She knew it was Peter again. No one but he would be calling at this time of the night. His voice sounded shaky, unsure.

"If he's there, just say wrong number again... but I do need to talk to you, _soon, _if you can manage it... maybe you can say I'm a neighbor calling?"

She knew Peter absolutely would not be calling if he even had a suspicion Michael were there, so something was up.

"It's okay, Peter. He just left."

"Oh, good. I hope he wasn't suspicious when I called the first time."

"I don't think so... Peter, you sound funny. What's wrong?"

"Breezy was out. I happened to be on the beach... well, I mean, I thought there might be a chance you were alone tonight. I was hoping you might not be seeing... _him _tonight... and I was walking out there, on the chance you might be out there. But then Breezy came running up to me."

"Breezy's out? Oh my God, I didn't even know she was gone!" Leslie's voice went up an octave.

"That's not all though. I'm sure she's going to be fine... but, Leslie, I think she got hit by a car."

Leslie's blood ran cold. She felt all her senses drain from her head, and had to grip the edge of the couch to steady herself.

"Oh no, Peter! How bad is she?"

"I've got her here, at the emergency vet clinic. They're x-raying her right now. I never would have called you tonight... if this hadn't happened."

"Oh my God, Peter!" She got directions from him and rushed out to her car after hurriedly getting dressed. By the time she arrived, the vet was talking to Peter about the x-ray. The vet smiled when Peter introduced her to him.

"It's alright... miss... er..."

"Parsons." Leslie realized Peter hadn't known her last name to give to the staff.

"Miss Parsons, your dog is very lucky. She did indeed get struck by a car as your friend suspected. She's a little scraped up, and some mild contusions and a broken toenail, but for all intents and purposes, we see nothing broken. The car probably barely clipped her, and that explains the scrapes and contusions... the asphalt that she probably slid on."

Leslie was so relieved that she fell into Peter's arms. "Oh... thank you so much," she said to both Peter and the vet at once. "She means so much to me. I can't figure out how she got out..."

Then she remembered Michael coming over and just walking right in. They'd been concentrating so much on each other that they'd probably left the door open again. Not enough for them to notice, but enough, probably, for Breezy to stick her nose into the crack and slip out.

When they brought Breezy out, she was nothing short of delirious to see Leslie. Although sore and moving a bit more slowly than normal, and her foot being bandaged because of her broken nail, she was looking a lot better than Leslie had expected. Guilt wracked her. How could she have been so caught up in Michael that she had forgotten about her own dog?

Well, she hadn't forgotten her, just didn't notice the door hadn't gotten closed. Still, Leslie felt as if she'd abandoned poor Breezy, who had obviously wanted to go for their nightly walk, then Michael had shown up and completely swept Leslie away.

"Just take the bandage off in a couple of days, and keep it clean. It'll heal and the nail will grow back. It's broken about halfway down. If it looks bad or gets infected, bring her back," said the vet.

Leslie paid the bill, then she and Peter led Breezy outside.

"What exactly happened, Peter?" Leslie asked him once they were outside the clinic.

"I'm not sure. I would have thought she'd stay on the beach... but she must have gone into the parking lot. That's my theory, anyway," said Peter. "In the dark, she'd be hard to see if she darted in front of a car. In the parking lot they drive a lot slower-which is probably what saved her life."

"Oh Peter, I feel so bad!" Leslie was clearly distraught, and Peter didn't know what to do for her.

"It wasn't your fault. She just must have slipped out somehow."

"Thank you so much for bringing her here," Leslie felt as if she were going to break down.

Her face was burning up, remembering how wrapped up in Michael she'd been. Breezy hadn't even entered her mind. She'd have to be sure that door was closed in the future. They sat on the chairs on the little patio area outside of the clinic for a little while, the night breeze just enough to feel invigorating on their skin. Peter had suggested this so that Leslie could calm down enough to drive home safely.

Peter pushed their chairs close to each other. The clinic was quiet tonight, so no one else was about. They both leaned over at the same time to pet Breezy and almost knocked their heads together. Giggling, they started to straighten up again in their seats, and Leslie suddenly noticed how close Peter's face was to hers.

It wasn't planned. It just happened. They paused there, still slightly bent forward, neither one straightening up all the way. They looked into each other's eyes, and then... their lips came together. It wasn't Leslie, and it wasn't Peter who initiated it. They simply both surrendered to the feeling at the exact same moment. It was so sudden, yet so natural.

The kiss was hot, passionate. All the pent up desire Peter had been harboring for Leslie came gushing forth. Leslie, not even knowing until now that she had _these _kinds of feelings for Peter, was stunned, yet she eagerly kissed him. Eager was actually much too mild of a word for it-she practically devoured him. She was so voracious that she shocked herself. She _had _to have been denying her feelings for him! There was no other explanation. Stupified, Leslie refused to let him go. Peter wasn't about to resist. Leslie scooted her chair closer, until their chairs touched. They continued to kiss as if they were the only man and woman left on earth. They were mad for each other.

Peter wasn't well versed in kissing. He didn't really have to be though. Kissing, like making love, came naturally, to a point. So he just followed Leslie's lead-did what she did, adding his own considerable zest. He relaxed his mouth and kissed her deeply, his hands on her shoulders, unconsciously pulling her toward him. After the first couple of minutes, Leslie allowed her fingers to work through the back of his hair as they kissed. It was just as soft as it looked. Like silk, it slid through her fingers. She never wanted to stop kissing him. If they'd stayed like this forever, she would have been in perpetual bliss. There was ceaseless wonder in the feel of his lips. The way they moved…

They kissed for God knows how long, with only small pauses, when they would lay their cheeks together.  
It was tender, it was sweet, yet sensual all in one fell swoop. Peter was so gentle-so like Michael, yet so unlike him. Leslie was so blown away by her irrational behavior that she refused to even allow it into her mind but for a few seconds. This was too good to even bother trying to think about anything else. As the kissing continued, Peter's confidence grew and before he knew it, they had both straightened all the way up, his arms engulfing her, and she could hardly believe the earthy sounds he was making. Peter was so natural in his responses-it were as if he'd been doing this on a regular basis. But she knew better, because it took him a few minutes to learn to kiss without awkwardness. But he was intuitive and picked up on it, and then there was no stopping him. And passion had her firmly in its clutches, a slave to the lust of his lips, his palpable yearning that he couldn't have hidden had his life depended on it. So she continued on, lost and drifting aimlessly under his spell.

An innocent spell, as while Peter felt yearnings he wasn't sure how to handle, he also felt all encompassing tenderness and the need to hold her close and protect her. He didn't know how to proceed except to just follow his instincts.

Someone came out of the door of the clinic-a technician finishing her shift. She smiled at them as she passed to get into her car in the parking lot. _She thinks we're lovers, _thought Leslie.

It broke the spell. Peter could have gone on kissing her all night, but they both knew it had to end sometime, and they had to come back to reality sooner or later, like it or not. _I hate reality,_ thought Peter.

Leslie cleared her throat uneasily and glanced at the technician getting into her car, and that's when she saw it. The Monkeemobile. _What?_ At first, realization refused to dawn on her. Her first reaction was to think, _why is the Monkeemobile here?_ Her car and the Monkeemobile were the only ones in the parking lot. There was no one in the driver's seat-she could see that from here. There was only one explanation.

"The Monkeemobile..." she said, almost to herself.

_How did she know they called it the Monkeemobile? _Only the words _The Monkees_ apeared on the logo. "Yeah, it belongs to me and my roommates." Oh well, she'd find out he was in a band now. But there was nothing he could do about it.

"But the Monkeemobile... it belongs to Michael," she stared incredulously at Peter now, the impact of the situation slowly hitting her. "My boyfriend, Michael. He drives the Monkeemobile." Her eyes glazed over. _What the hell? Holy shit!_

Peter's mouth dropped, his breath hitched in horror. For a moment he just couldn't speak, and then he said, "Oh my God." As the truth hit him, he struggled to recover. "_Michael_ is your boyfriend? Oh my God, oh my God."

"Yes, and you're driving the car, so that means... you're Michael's roommate and bandmate?" she could scarcely believe what was unfolding right here, before her eyes. In fact, they were both in quite a state of shock.

"God, I wish it weren't true, but… yes. I didn't tell you... about my roommates, or the fact that I'm a musician... because I didn't want them to take your attention away from me..."

"Peter! You're a _musician_-I had no idea. But... you're also Michael's friend and roommate!" Leslie was filled with horror at the immensity of everything hitting her at once. Breezy being hit, Peter kissing her, and now... _this_!

"I had no idea Leslie... I swear to you. I knew your boyfriend's name was Michael... but it's a common name. When you told me he was in a band, well... I'm sure there are a lot of Michaels in bands. I never thought..." he was stunned, Leslie could see that. And of course she believed he was telling her the truth.

"I had no idea whatsoever... not even a clue... that you two could be roommates... and bandmates. Michael was afraid to have me meet you guys for the same reason _you _were afraid for me to meet them. He told me so. So this explains... why you've been so mysterious about your private life!"

"Yeah... now you know why I hid it from you." Peter was practically swaying on his feet. _Why did it have to be Michael? Of all people?_

"Oh Peter... this is terrible!"

Peter felt such loyalty to Mike, but likewise, he felt such yearning for Leslie. And they were _both_ his friends. The feelings warred within him. He wanted to combust, scream, run for the hills. But he didn't do any of those things. He just sat there beside Leslie, watching her try to come to terms with all that had happened tonight.

"God, Peter! I want to... kiss you again. What is _wrong _with me?" She avoided his eyes. Passion for Peter was just sweeping her away. She just could not seem to restrain herself. She had to get out of here.

"Look, I can drive now," Leslie was shaking.

"I'll follow you. And Leslie, I suppose this is the last time I'll get to see you?" Peter's face was cloaked in hurt and misery.

"No, Peter! I can't give you up-I even told Mrs. Marston that. Neither one of you. I know Michael's a good friend of yours. But if it's up to me, I won't let either of you go."

He kissed her then. She felt the desolation. Tasting his mouth, feeling the fever in him, his hands on either of her cheeks, kissing her as if it were his last chance.

"I have to go, Peter." She twisted out of his arms, the effort of it not very effective. He didn't want to let go. It would be so much easier to just stay here with him, kissing him, and let the world just go on by itself.

"We have to talk, though. We have to figure out what to do about ... Michael," at least he had enough sense about him to speak reason.

"I know... oh my God! You and Michael, roommates! When do you guys plan on practicing... tomorrow?

"Ten in the morning. I can get away by about 3 if you want."

"Okay, tomorrow I won't be seeing him, so that'll work. Where do you want to meet? My house?"

He nodded. "I'll make sure Michael doesn't see me, even if I have to wait for him to take a nap. I'll get there as soon as I can."

As Leslie helped Breezy out of the Monkeemobile, Peter handed her two bottles. Here's antibiotics and pain pills for Breezy. The vet gave them to me. Give them until they're all gone. There's directions on the bottles."

"Thank you so much, Peter. And again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking care of Breezy like you did."

"Anything for you and Breezy, Leslie. I mean that." They shared another short kiss, and Leslie and Breezy drove home, watching the Monkeemobile follow them in her rearview mirror, and then turn before reaching the parking lot. Leslie realized Peter was delaying his return so there was no chance Michael would see them both drive up at the same time. Bless Peter…

As she and Breezy entered her house, she heard the Monkeemobile pull into the parking lot.

After feeding Breezy and giving her the medications, and as she petted the sleepy dog's head as Breezy nodded off into sleep, Leslie thought back on things, and realized Peter was the one Mike had distinctly described as shy with girls. That was certainly true. It was so strange to imagine the two of them good friends, roommates and bandmates, as they'd been so separate in her mind, and she couldn't believe she hadn't had a clue while seeing them both for months. Somehow her mind had difficulty grasping the concept. It was understandable though. There were a lot of people in the beach area. The chances had been so slim…

Mrs. Marston had been right! Leslie should have known… Mrs. Marston picked up on everything. She did indeed feel more than friendship for Peter. After a very restless night, Leslie grabbed her purse to head over to the homeless shelter about the same time the Monkees would be leaving for practice. She had to talk to Mrs. Marston. That's when she saw something barely sticking out of her purse. She pulled it out. A check…for the entire amount of Breezy's vet visit! And signed by one Peter Tork.

Leslie handed Mrs. Marston some candy and tangerines (Veronica's favorite) as they sat down to talk.

"Thank you, Leslie. Veronica is spending some time with a new girl who checked in two days ago, and they're out on the grounds, so we can talk freely about… whatever." Mrs. Marston had sensed Leslie's urgency as soon as she'd arrived. And she could almost bet she knew what it would be about.

Leslie wasted no time. "Mrs. Marston, something has happened." Mrs. Marston just nodded and waited. "It's a long story, but…" and Leslie proceeded to tell the woman about Michael coming over, and the phone call, Breezy's incident, meeting Peter at the clinic, and finally to the kiss.

Leslie was puzzled when Mrs. Marston didn't look very surprised.

"I knew this was coming. But at least it's not as bad as… it could have been," she said. "At least Michael didn't catch you… with Peter. I mean… kissing him." She added quickly.

"But, how did you know it was coming?"

"Leslie, I saw how bright your eyes were when Peter was here. It was the same… kind of wonder I saw in you when Michael was here. I knew you felt something for Peter besides friendship just from your face—it's very expressive, you know."

Oh no… could everyone read her by the look on her face? No… Michael hadn't guessed about another man. It was just that Mrs. Marston had that woman's intuition in a very hefty dose.

Leslie was clearly agitated. "Calm down, Leslie. All you did was kiss Peter… and you aren't married to Michael, or even engaged to him. You two haven't even discussed seeing each other exclusively."

"Well, yes. But I kind of got the feeling it was implied."

"No… there's nothing wrong with seeing two men at the same time, _provided_ it's handled properly—and honestly."

"But I've been… intimate with Michael."

"Yes, but you know, we _do_ have to be certain the man we choose is the right one. And sometimes this is the only way to find out."

Mrs. Marston was so matter-of-fact, and her calm demeanor soothed Leslie's tension. She no longer felt quite as dirty and sneaky as she had the night before.

"What should I do then?"

"Only you can answer that question, Leslie. But I do know one thing for sure… Michael needs to be told."

"Oh yes, and of course I was planning on telling him. Peter and I will be discussing it later today, and we'll have to decide how to go about it then."

Mrs. Marston drew her brows together in an earnest look that was almost a scowl—she was concentrating that deeply.

"Leslie, promise me something… that you'll be very careful with Michael and break it to him as gently as possible," her voice almost sounded like a plea. Mrs. Marston, the observant one, had somehow seen inside Michael, had seen how cautious he was with matters of the heart, how vulnerable he was. She knew he'd been hurt because Leslie had told her, but, once again, she hoped Leslie realized how fragile he was on the inside—no matter how he might appear on the outside.

"I'll be back in a few days to tell you what happened," Leslie said as she got ready to leave.

"Oh, one more thing. I found a check in my purse for Breezy's vet bill. Peter's check."

"For the entire amount?"

"Yes."

"Oh my… that young man has it as bad for you as Michael does! What will you do?"

"Give it back, of course."

"Good choice. Give Breezy a kiss and hug for me. And a get well wish."

"Oh, I will." Leslie had left Breezy home by herself today because Leslie didn't want her walking too much on her broken toenail, as it had to be painful. She'd only taken her out on the beach for as long as necessary.

When the knock came, Leslie felt like she was going to jump out of her skin. _Peter…_

He hadn't called first because there had been no reason to. Of course he'd been with Michael for practice, and afterward Mike had taken a book and gone to his room. Peter couldn't help studying him as the tall Texan strolled down the hall. The man had slept with Leslie! Lucky bastard! For a moment, he'd pictured it in his mind, then stopped that train of thought immediately. It made him insanely jealous… and envious.

Peter hugged Leslie then immediately went to Breezy, who was dozing by the couch, her pain medication having made her sleepy. "Poor baby," he murmured into her ear. Her tail wagged weakly, and she went right back to sleep.

Leslie silently handed Peter his check then. "No, I wouldn't have given it to you if I didn't want to do it."

"Don't be silly, Peter! She's my dog. You didn't even have anything to do with her accident!"

"No, but I don't know if you can afford it or not… and I can. The Monkees, as I'm sure you know from Michael, are becoming in demand. We're being paid very well."

"Still, I don't feel right—here," she tried to give him the check, and he pushed her hand away. On the third try, he finally took it. "Don't think this is the last of it though," he said cryptically.

"You didn't know my last name… how did you register Breezy?"

Peter paused and his face was soon as red as a tomato. "Mr. and Mrs. Peter Tork." He looked like he was going to keel over from embarrassment.

_Wow._

When Leslie found her voice again, she said, "What if Michael should go there with me for any reason, and they couldn't find the chart, then found it under Tork?"

"He'd have a cow. I'd love to see the look on his face. On second thought, no… I wouldn't."

"Does he anger easily?"

"Actually no, not really. It takes quite a bit, but when he finally erupts, you better watch out. Oh, he'd never… hit a girl or one of us guys, but he's a force to be reckoned with. Let's just say I wouldn't want to run across him in a dark alley if he were mad."

Peter sat down on the couch next to her. "I've thought of little else than what happened last night since I saw you last."

Leslie nodded. "Me too. I even discussed it with Mrs. Marston this morning."

"You did?" Peter looked engrossed. "What'd she say?" He imagined Mrs. Marston would be horrified.

"She was really calm and casual about it. She said she didn't see much wrong with it… since I'm not really committed to Michael. Her main concern was that Michael should know."

"Yeah, I think so too. It's only right. You know, it's weird how it's all starting to make sense now. The late night walks Michael was taking. He said he was walking on the beach. He was seeing you, wasn't he?"

Leslie nodded.

"And then I started to take walks, thinking it seemed to be therapeutic for Mike, so decided I'd try it too. And then I met you…"

"He never told you guys about me at all?"

"In a roundabout way, and only when pushed. He never said much more than he'd met a girl when he was out and about. He was mysterious about it."

"I met you both in the same way. That's the strangest part."

"Really? You actually met Mike on the beach at night too?" Peter felt prickles of irritation. He was annoyed that Mike had had the privilege of meeting her first, and in the same way.

"And he told me about his roommates. When he spoke of Peter, well… Peter isn't that uncommon of a name either. I never even dreamed it could be _you_ he was talking about!" All the little details were piecing the puzzle together.

"He speaks highly of you, Peter. Thinks a lot of you… I can tell."

"He does?" Peter's annoyance dissolved a bit.

"Bottom line is, you didn't know I was seeing the same Michael. So there's no need for anyone to be upset with anyone… except me. I'm the one who hasn't been honest here."

But Leslie, you had every intention of telling him. You just hadn't done it yet. And then Breezy's accident happened… and everything changed."

"Yeah, you aren't kidding." It had been bad enough having to sneak around with Peter when they were just friends. But now…everything had changed in an instant. _The instant their lips had touched._

"So when do we talk to Michael? And, for the love of God, what are we going to say?"

"I guess we just tell him the truth. The truth is always best." Wasn't that just like Peter? His mother had given him sage advice, and he was still following it. Leslie hoped, that if she ever had kids, they would heed her advice like Peter did.

"Peter, how did this… happen?"

"It didn't just happen. I've had feelings for quite a while."

"You have? More than friends feelings?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You had a boyfriend, remember?" he smiled. "If I told you about my feelings, I thought you would dump me, right then and there. So I accepted you as a friend only, even though… man, it was hard."

Yes, of course that's what Peter would think, and that's exactly what she would have done—if Peter wasn't such a good person, and they weren't already close friends.

"Oh my God," Leslie said out loud when she hadn't meant to.

"What?"

"I just remembered something Michael said, but I really shouldn't tell you…"

"Come on, Leslie. With all we've been through in the last twelve hours, please don't be keeping any more secrets." Begging her to tell him, Peter looked so irresistibly cute, his bottom lip almost sticking out.

"I shouldn't even mention this… but for some reason it came to mind… don't you ever tell Michael I told you this, but… he said one time you guys were rough housing and you licked his neck."

Peter laughed. "Yeah, I remember that. He got mad and left the room."

Leslie left it at that. No way was she going to tell Peter that that the neck lick had turned Michael on. It had been said to her in confidence.

"One night when Michael came home seemingly frustrated and in a pissy mood, David said he must have blue balls." Peter immediately covered his mouth. "Oh, sorry. For a minute there I forgot I wasn't talking to a guy."

Leslie tried not to laugh, but didn't have any luck. "Peter, you crack me up!"

"Well, when do you want to tell Michael… and_ how_?" asked Peter.

That was a good question. How to break it to Michael? Not only that she had a friend that she'd kept a secret, but that it was _Peter_? And not only that, but that she and Peter had feelings for each other? Just the thought of telling him gave Leslie goose bumps. She had no idea how he'd react.

"Now Peter, you live with Michael, so in some ways you know him better than me. How is he going… to take this?"

Peter was silent for a couple of minutes, and Leslie knew he was going over the scenario in his mind.

"Well, he's going to be very unhappy for one thing… and for another, he might be ready to kill me."

"Why? You didn't know about him, so how could he hold it against you? The kiss happened before I even saw the Monkeemobile."

"I know, but Michael hasn't been very fortunate with girls. Something always seems to go wrong… kind of like with me."

Well, Peter had just confirmed what Michael had already told her. "That's precisely why I've put it off for so long. I didn't want him to get hurt yet again."

"Can't we just tell him we're good friends, and leave it at that?" Poor Peter looked miserable. Leslie suspected strongly that he was a little afraid of Michael losing his temper. He wondered if Michael would beat Peter up, or at least hit him? But Peter had already said that it wouldn't happen.

"If this is going to put you in danger, I'd rather just carry on as we have," she said. "If this can't be done peaceably, I'd just as soon keep things as they are."

"Yeah, but sooner or later… Mike would find out. He's no slouch in the brains department. I respect him a lot—the others do too. We've been friends for years. We read each other all the time. He's more or less been the executive around the Pad. Keeps everyone in line. This wouldn't go over well with him."

"I respect him too. He's a calming influence. A lot like you, Peter. Considerate, tender and gentle."

There Peter went, wanting to plug his ears again. He didn't want to be compared to Michael , even though Mike was a good friend. He just wanted to stand on his own.

Leslie reached out and smoothed the hair away from Peter's eyes. "I've wanted to do that on more occasion." It sounded like a come-on to her ears, but he affected her that way. He made her want to touch him. His fascinating hazel eyes turned dark with desire. The drapes were pulled and it seemed to be much later than 4pm. Leslie felt drunk on Peter's nearness. That undertone of innocence he carried along with the intelligent mind was a powerful aphrodisiac.

"Will you play for me sometime?"

"Bass? Guitar?"

"Whichever. I'd watch you play anything."

Their conversation was so low, so intimate sounding that it seemed as if they were talking about something erotic, when in fact they weren't.

Leslie wanted Peter to kiss her again. She knew it was wrong, even though Mrs. Marston wasn't of that opinion. Well, really, it was wrong because Leslie hadn't told Michael about Peter. If Michael had been totally aware of Peter and their situation, she wouldn't feel quite as guilty.

Peter picked up on her vibrations, but was afraid she'd reject him. They were so close… yet neither one would make the first move.

"Will you play me a love song sometime?" she asked as she continued to play with his hair. He was so filled with desire that he merely nodded. He didn't trust his voice not to crack, or even worse, sound like a girl, as a result of his strong emotions. Peter had a low voice, but when he got especially emotional, it sometimes rose to a higher register, and he wasn't going to chance it.

Was she going to continue on as friends, or was she wanting things to progress forward from last night? He was unclear on this, as she hadn't clarified anything. Did she want to wait until after they told Michael to kiss him again, or was she going to tell Michael it had been a one-time thing, and then follow up on that?

Peter reluctantly went back to the Pad at dinner time, since he'd told the others he'd been home for the evening meal. He would have stayed longer, and called to tell them he wouldn't be home for dinner, but she didn't ask him to stay longer. They hadn't kissed, or even sat especially close together. Peter was confused and perplexed as he left. He wanted to ask Leslie where he stood with her now, but just didn't have enough nerve to actually do it. They hugged at the door, and he was gone. Neither one had said a word about when, exactly, they were going to talk to Michael.

Sitting on the couch after he'd left, things were slowly coming back to Leslie as she pondered things Mike had brought up in the past. When she'd asked about his roommates, hadn't he said something about Peter being his favorite roommate? A rare, gentle soul….honest, sensitive? Something like that. And the rainy night when there'd been a spider in her room—Michael had released it outside, claiming that Peter always did that, and insisted the others do the same. Yep, sounded _exactly _like Peter. She smiled.

Sometime after he'd left, Leslie felt very lonely as she went to the kitchen to fix herself some soup for dinner. She'd wanted his touch so desperately. Yet, he was clearly feeling too much loyalty to his good friend Michael to step over any more boundaries. She admired, respected him for that, and wished she had such good control over her own emotions. He was clearly yielding to Michael.

That was when she saw that he'd left the check on the counter… _Oh, Peter…_


	14. Chapter 14

"Peter, take this damn check back before I cram it down your throat!" Leslie was half kidding and half serious.

"No."

"Then I'll rip it up," and she proceeded to do just that, right in front of his nose.

"I'll just write another one," he said, a bit of attitude coloring his words. _Whoa!_ He was showing a stubborn streak, but he was so damn cute that all it did was turn her on.

"I know I haven't been open with you about my position-I mean, I didn't tell you anything about me because you were so closed-mouthed about yourself. You must wonder why I don't have a job. Well, my parents died and left me an inheritance...it's not a huge amount, but enough for me to live on. I was an only child. I've saved a significant amount for emergencies, so I can well afford it."

"I'm sorry to hear about your parents. And I did wonder why you never mentioned relatives. As for your position-we're booked solid on gigs for at least the next six months. Michael keeps coming up with new songs, and all we're getting is positive feedback and more gigs. Not trying to brag... but we're raking in the bread, and I can afford a hundred with no problem at all."

When Peter had mentioned Michael's name, it had just come out without him thinking about it, as he naturally talked about Michael on an everyday basis. He had just momentarily forgotten about the current situation, and she'd assumed that, but she flinched just the same.

_There's no set of rules Michael or I are expected to follow-there's no commitment, and we haven't even discussed the possibility of dating each other exclusively. We're both free agents, not married, and should be able to do what we want about dating__,__ without judgment._

This line of thinking had been going through her head a lot. It snuck up on her, and she couldn't stop the thoughts. Like right now.

"Do you have any idea how influential that man is? Michael?" Peter knew Mike deserved every good thing he could ever say about him. He shouldn't censor his words because of the current circumstances. "He's producer material, as well as songwriter and musician. I don't see that there's _anything _he can't do in the music world. Someday the world will know it, too."

Leslie loved how Peter was so complimentary toward Michael. He certainly did look up to him.

"But I still have to admit… I _do _wish I'd met you first." There it was—Peter's candid honesty again.

"Peter, getting to know people takes time-more than just a few dates. You and I have just begun. I know I probably shouldn't have gone to bed with him, and wouldn't have if I'd known what was going to happen with you. I didn't even go to bed with him until after we'd been seeing each other for three months. So I'm not just some bed-hopping floozy. But the fact is, I don't even know if Michael and I are on the same page! Nothing about this is simple."

"Don't think I don't know all that. I know you're not that kind of girl. Think of my position too. Michael trusts me, I trust him. If someone were to ask him if he thought I'd ever do something like this to him, he would throw them against the wall. That's how much he believes in me. And I can't even tell you how much_ I _believe in _him_."

This ran even deeper than Leslie had ever dreamed. She was just now realizing how close Peter and Michael were. _Who was she to come between them?_ If she'd told Michael right away, as soon as she'd met Peter, all this could have been avoided. Well… her feelings for Peter would have still surfaced, but at least Michael wouldn't have been _completely _in the dark about _everything,_ as he was now.

"And just what page are you on, by the way? With Michael?"

"Peter, that's the trouble. I don't even know myself. When should we tell Michael? Tomorrow? You said you guys are taking it off. I could call him—ask him to come over at a certain time. No, that won't work. He never gave me the number."

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "You could put a note on our door. In fact, I could put it there for you—late tonight." "But," Peter continued, "how are we going to tell him—I mean, what exactly will we say?"

That had Leslie stumped. If she and Peter had already openly been friends, it wouldn't be as difficult, but they had to tell Michael about their _friendship _as well as the feelings that were developing. Mike didn't even know they _knew_ each other! Man, she'd really dug a deep hole.

"I know you already know this, but at all costs, we have to try to protect Michael's feelings… as much as possible."

"I couldn't agree more, Peter. He deserves nothing less."

"What will happen… after tomorrow night?" Peter had gathered all his courage to ask, and now waited expectantly.

"In a perfect world, I'd keep both of you. How do you… feel about that, Peter?"

"You seeing us both? If that's the only way I can see you… then I'd accept it. I did a lot of thinking on that myself last night. I think I could hack it… as long as you don't… tell me any personal details about your relationship with him. But I have no idea what Michael's feelings… would be on it. That is, after he got over the shock."

"Well, all right… Let's compose a note for the door. Right now I'll fix us some oven barbequed chicken. Peter started to protest, but she opened the refrigerator door and pointed to the chicken defrosting on the shelf. Too much for one person," she said.

"Oh, and I can't be here first, Leslie. He'll have to come over first. That way he won't feel as if I've invaded his… territory."

"Of course…. You're right. It would be a terrible shock for him to see you in my house when he comes over. You'll have to come over shortly after he gets here."

"We need to… figure out how to… respond… what to say… depending on his reaction. Know what I mean? Defuse him?" Peter looked white as a sheet as the realization settled over him that they'd actually be telling Michael in only about 24 hours from now.

"I thought you said he wouldn't get violent."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure he won't. But… what can we say to… reassure him? Calm him down?"

"That he won't be losing me, is that what you mean, Peter?"

_Shit, that burned!_

Something that sounded like a croak came from him. No time now to be selfish, he thought to himself. Michael's feelings are on the line here—he needs to be put first, no matter what. If Peter were dropped—and he fully expected to be, he was just wondering if there were any way he'd be able to salvage his friendship with Michael. After all, Peter had still kissed her _after _knowing about Mike. If Mike asked, he'd have to be honest.

Peter reached over to pet Breezy and whisper in her ear. "Her toenail doesn't look bad at all. "Yeah, I see it's healing nicely, girl," he said. Leslie liked the fact that both Michael and Peter were kind to animals.

"Yes, I have to clean the sand off it every time we go for a walk, but she's not even limping. She's almost back to the same dog. I'm still so grateful every time I look at her that you happened to be there to rescue her."

"Let's not get carried away. I didn't rescue her, because she didn't need it. She would have been fine… even without the vet. But it's better that we made sure with the x-rays."

A few moments elapsed and then Leslie had to ask Peter about something that seemed to be lingering around- a strange sensation—something that could only be described as halfway between bliss and anxiety.

"Is it just me… or does it feel strange in here?" Leslie asked.

"Strange, how? Oh… you mean the vibes?" She nodded. "Yeah, I feel them too. On my end, it's called heavy duty attraction," Peter blushed. "Don't know if it's the same for you. It's a bummer things are the way they are."

Peter just couldn't help saying exactly what was on his mind. She loved his candor. Sometimes he spoke before he even thought about it. He didn't tend to govern or censor his speech, unless it was profanity. With Peter, you knew you were getting the real thing.

Leslie saw Peter eyeing the plush, huge rug she'd splurged on last winter. It was about 12x10, and was so soft and thick that you nearly sunk into it. It was great in front of her fireplace in winter. Leslie often laid on it with Breezy while she watched television.

On an impulse, she said, "You want to feel it? The rug?"

"Yeah, I've wondered about it before. It looks so comfortable."

"It is. Come and lay on it with me." She strolled over and dropped onto it. Peter did the same.

"Man, I dig it. This is the most bitchin' rug I've ever been on! Right on!"

Before she could even think about what she was doing, Leslie had snuggled up under Peter's arm, her head on his chest. She'd never been an aggressive woman, it was just that Peter made things so easy. So easy to just do what felt good. He brought that out in her.

"I love Michael a lot," his words cut right through to her soul. "He told me once that I was the brother he never had."

Leslie also remembered Michael stating that only two other people called him Michael instead of Mike, on a regular basis anyway—his mother and Peter. There was a lot of significance there.

So Michael was on his mind too. She liked to hear that, as it told her Peter wasn't thinking only of lust. Not that she thought so—if that were the only thing on his mind, he wouldn't have taken care of Breezy the other day, he wouldn't have stuck around as long as he had, when nothing romantic had happened between them. There hadn't even been any promise of it—not a single hint. Until the other night. This was breaking her heart. She thought the world of Michael, and so did Peter. Yet neither one of them could turn away from the other.

Peter's serenity, his tranquility lulled her into letting her guard down. Then she found herself back where she'd started days ago. Craving more closeness from him.

"Are you feeling a bit blue, Peter?" she asked, hoping to divert her attention away from his allure.

"Midnight blue," he responded.

_That was an interesting response. But probably right on the mark. _

They lay there with her head on his chest, her hand resting flat there too, his arms folded loosely around her waist. Her hand crept up from his chest, seeking his hair again. It just drew her to it. All it's thick, golden softness. She tunneled her fingers through it, lifting it, then smoothing it down again, throwing in a caress to his neck as part of the process.

Peter sucked in air through his teeth, making a hissing sound. Didn't she know what she was doing to him? Or was she just simply playing with his hair?

When she angled her head up and kissed his jaw, he had his answer. He flipped her over onto her back in a single move.

"Gotcha!" he said. He didn't move to kiss her though. This entire thing had to be on her terms.

"You're fast!" she said.

"Have to be. Live with three other guys, and being slow isn't an option. Davy is literally like a monkey/Superman/Tarzan hybrid. He climbs trees, swings from things, jumps from building to building, and if he wrestles you, you'd better have all your wits about you, because he's 5'3" and 120 lbs. of steely fury. He's the most athletic of the four of us, and he's damn strong too. Stronger than me. We're the two most agile ones of the bunch. But Davy's the Romeo…" Peter looked thoughtful.

"Where does Michael come in on all this?" Leslie was taking a chance by asking Peter about Mike and his personal life at home, but she wanted to know how the guys interacted with each other. She had a real thirst for it.

It didn't seem to bother Peter. He really liked talking about Mike, but had just been afraid it might bother Leslie. "Oh, poor Michael. He gets battered on a regular basis. He's not quick as a cat like Davy, not stealthy like Davy. He doesn't stand a chance," Peter chuckled quietly.

"He can hold his own with me and Micky, but Davy can run circles around him. He's a good sport about it though, gotta give him that. I guess he realizes Davy can wipe the rest of us out too, without much more effort, if he really wanted to. Here Michael is, the tallest one, and often the grimmest one, but the one most picked on."

"But you better believe when Michael brings up something… serious, everyone bucks up and listens. He's the general, alright. He can bring you to your knees with his barbs, and arguing with him is usually futile… because  
Michael is almost always right. Those are some of the reasons I'm so … leery about tomorrow night. Michael could easily put us both in our place… with only words. Be prepared, Leslie. He can be brutal. Like I said before… he's a force to be reckoned with."

I'm afraid he might just haul off and hit you, purely as a reflex."

"Yeah, when it involves matters of the heart… people can get irrational. Michael is still human… just about anything is possible."

Peter wasn't making her feel very confident about their plan. She was now seriously contemplating talking to Michael without Peter present. But when she suggested this, Peter was adamant.

"This is one thing I'm not going to be easy going about," he said. "I want to be present when you tell him. I can't go running and hiding… and leaving you to face this alone."

"But… do you think it would be better for _Michael_ if I told him without you there?"

Peter thought about this, then spoke with conviction. "I know Michael well. I'm sure he'd want to see me facing up to this… to him. Look him in the eye."

Leslie didn't understand these unspoken guidelines for male ritual any more than she ever had. So she had to trust Peter on this one. Being direct was essential for them, it seemed. One thing that really made her skittish though, was that no matter how remote, a physical fight was still possible. Peter had more or less admitted it.

"I want him to know I_ care_—that I'm not in this just for kicks." Peter seemed almost frantic to assure her, and, later, get across to Michael, what his feelings truly were. "No man can think clearly though… when he's… emotional… like Michael's gonna be. You have to be aware, Leslie. He just might end up clobbering me."

"That's why I thought it might be best for me to tell him alone, and when he calms down, you could talk to him."

"I have to show him I'm serious though. That I wasn't just trying to get you … into bed. That I'm so serious, I'm willing to face up to it, whatever the consequence."

"But I was planning on explaining that the kiss happened _before _you knew who he was."

"He'll be so freaked out, he might not even hear that part. All he'll be thinking is that… I want to take his girl away. He might see red, Leslie, and if that happens, he'll react without even thinking."

Leslie was getting more and more uncomfortable. "Maybe we should do it in another way—in a public place, maybe."

"Leslie, it doesn't matter where we do it. We might still have a very volatile Michael on our hands. When it comes to women… men can morph into beasts. I know how _I'd_ feel if the tables were turned. He's gonna have a thousand emotions going through him… all at once. He's gonna feel like you betrayed him, I betrayed him, and he'll also feel like his manhood is being questioned. In addition to being hurt right down to the bone. "

"How do you know exactly how he'll feel?" Leslie was curious.

"Because I've done a hell of a lot of thinking about it… and I put myself in his place. And what I described is exactly how I'd feel."

_This was some strong stuff,_ thought Leslie. They hadn't even slept together, yet she had the feeling Peter was trying to get something across to her. Was he trying to tell her that he felt he and Michael were in deep? Two reluctant rams feeling like they'd have to lock horns?

"I care too much for you… to give you up. But if I have to… I have to. You were with Michael first. If you choose him, I'll understand."

It left a bitter taste in Peter's mouth to have say those words, but it was necessary. Who was he fooling? What other way could it possibly go? He was playing second fiddle here.

Peter left a little later. Leslie never did cook the chicken. Neither one had any appetite. They had somehow kept from kissing. It just didn't seem right—not now. Peter hugged her before he went out the door. Long and hard, as if it might be the last hug they'd ever share.

_And it might well be,_ thought Leslie. She drew in his clean manly scent that belonged to Peter only, and luxuriated in it as she clung to him.

She wrote a note to Michael, and Peter took it with him, saying he'd tape it to their front door after everyone had gone to bed. In the note she'd asked Mike to come over at 6pm, that she needed to talk to him. That was all. The plan was for Peter to come over at 6:30, and then they'd tell Mike.

But things didn't go exactly as planned…

When Peter got home, he had the note tucked into his pocket. He passed Davy outside, trying out his new scooter. Inside the Pad, Micky was cleaning his new cymbals. Apparently, they hadn't listened to Mike's advice about a savings account. Peter didn't see Mike, so assumed he was napping. As Peter got ready to take the stairs up to his room, Mike came out of his own room.

"Hey Pete. What's up?" Guilt rode Peter hard.

"Not much, babe. Did you take a nap?"

"No, I jerked off," Mike said dryly, half-smiling, and Peter didn't know if he was kidding or not. Sometimes, with Mike, it was hard to tell. Mike grabbed Peter's shoulders from behind and massaged. This was nothing new—they often massaged each other's shoulders to unknot tired muscles.

"A bit tense today?" Asked Mike. "You're not very floppy ." They referred to relaxed as "floppy."

"Oh, maybe a touch." The usually laid back Peter couldn't think of a single reason to tell Mike why he'd be tense, but he didn't feel like voicing an excuse, as Mike would know by tomorrow, if he even remembered this moment by then.

_Peter felt good under his hands. _Tense or not, Mike liked the way Peter seemed to almost lean into his touch. That was Peter for you. Not the least bit uptight about touching or showing affection.

Mike felt a slight stirring of desire, but he fought it off. He was just young and horny, he reminded himself. Nothing to worry about.

Peter started to respond to Mike's kneading of his shoulders and upper back. The tension was melting away, yet it was followed by another type of tension that he couldn't name. But it was… definitely pleasant. He liked Mike's solid, reassuring touch. Firm, yet gentle. Then he thought about Mike touching Leslie, and his slight physical response wilted faster than a badger burrowing down a hole, which was one of Mike's favorite Texas metaphors.

When the rest of the Pad retired at midnight, Peter waited a while and then silently taped the note to the front door, went upstairs and tried to fool himself into thinking he'd be able to sleep.

Leslie and Peter both had a fitful night consisting more of wakefulness than sleep. Both tossed and turned and had disturbing dreams when they did manage to drop off to sleep. Leslie felt, rather than saw, Michael's face looming above her, watching her as she slept. However, it wasn't a reproaching look, but rather a gentle, accepting look. Michael wasn't really there, but she felt his presence nonetheless. A peaceful feeling came over her. Maybe things would somehow work out after all.

Peter, on the other hand, with his mind in a turmoil, wanted to go wake Michael and tell him. Maybe just to get it over with, he wasn't sure. He only knew he was dreading tomorrow.

Dawn found Peter and Leslie both awake, although in different places. How to make it until 6pm? That was when Michael was to arrive at Leslie's house.

Davy went out to get the newspaper as he did every morning, and found the note.

"Hey, Mike. Another note from your sweetie!"

Peter's heart raced as Davy handed the note to Mike, and Mike scanned it with his quick eyes. He looked up from the note and out at the ocean, not saying a word, but you could just tell how his mind was churning. He was wondering what she wanted to talk to him about, and it worried him. If she'd gone to the trouble to tape this note to the door, it must be important. He feared it might be negative, and he found himself not able to eat his entire bowl of cereal. Peter watched it all—felt it all as if it were himself experiencing it. Saw the inner working of Mike's mind as if it were sitting on the table in full view of everyone. Not what he was actually thinking, but how rapidly it turned and twisted with unanswered questions.

Peter tried to put himself in Mike's place. Hell yeah, he'd be worried too. "What'd she have to say?" Davy, ever curious, hadn't read this one, as he'd carried it straight to Mike.

Mike made an effort to appear casual. "Oh, she just wants to see me this evening," he said.

"Ah… she wants to get it on!" said Davy.

"Shut up," and Michael left the room.

"What's with him and the hair up his butt?" Davy asked Peter. Peter just shrugged, not able to eat his cereal either. He picked up both their bowls and washed them in the sink. It was the least he could do for Mike, considering what was going to happen later.

It seemed as if six would never come. Leslie ate what little dinner she could choke down, fed Breezy and walked her, then came back inside to wait quietly, trying to ignore the feeling of doom in her gut.

At precisely five minutes to six, she opened the door for Michael and looked up into those dark enigmatic eyes.

"Touch me," he said. _Oh God, I can't play this intimate game tonight. _But she did. She ran her hand from his shoulder down to his wrist, and he clasped it in his hand when it got there.

"Hug me," was, of course, next, pulling her toward him. The hug was warm, sweet and carried a hint of desire through his worry about what she wanted to talk about.

"Hi girl!" he said to Breezy, squatting down to stroke her. "What happened to her nail?" he asked. Leslie was caught off guard. "She… broke it. She's fine though. It's healing well."

"How'd it happen?"

"Um… it's a long story. I'll tell you later."

"There's a scrape on her nose too," Michael studied the scrape, running his hands over Breezy's body, feeling for more. "She's fine now, but she got away from me on the beach and got clipped by a car in the parking lot." She'd tell him the _real_ story after he found out about Peter. She could hardly insert that part now. At the moment, other things had priority.

Michael wrinkled his forehead. "Is that what you wanted to talk to me about tonight?"

"No…" Leslie wasn't sure how she was going to hold him off. But she hadn't wanted to tell Peter to come earlier, as there would be a greater possibility of them running into each other on their way to her house. In the next couple of minutes, she wished she'd told Peter to come at 6:15.

"Oh… I'm getting it now ," his voice softened suddenly. The teasing quality made Leslie nervous. He'd taken her hesitation as coyness. "You wanted me to come over for some… romance?" His tone was rapidly becoming something deeper than teasing, and his voice became husky. "I'd love that too. I've wanted you so…" he held her, then tilted her chin up with his hand and kissed her deeply.

Meanwhile, Peter had taken the Monkeemobile out, as the suspense was making him a nervous wreck. He thought if he drove around a while, he might be able to distract himself. It had no effect. He realized he needed to head home at 6, as he didn't know if Mike would be walking or driving the Monkeemobile over to Leslie's house.

That's when a cop pulled him over. He'd been speeding, he realized, in his effort to get the car home in time. Great—something to delay him.

"Nice car," said the cop. "Souped up. Are you one of the Monkees –the band that's playing all over town?" Peter felt like making a sarcastic remark. The Monkees logo was on the door in plain sight.

"Yeah. I'm sorry I was speeding, but I have an appointment."

"Where you going?"

"Home."

"How can you have an appointment at home?

"My girlfriend." Now _that _sounded stupid, thought Peter. Not only was she _not _his girlfriend, but a cop would hardly take getting to his girlfriend's house that seriously anyway. If the cop held him up much longer, he'd run the risk of getting there late. He'd have to walk instead of take the Monkeemobile, and that would take longer. If he took the Monkeemobile, Mike would probably be mad, as then _he'd _have to walk the half mile. And Peter didn't need Mike being irritated with him before he even got to Leslie's.

The cop took forever to write the ticket. He reminded Peter a bit of Mike—not in a hurry for anything. That Texas, all- the- time- in- the- world, mellow attitude. Peter couldn't say anything more about having to get home without running the risk of angering the cop, so he just sat there, stress eating away at him. It was still a fifteen minute drive home, and now he didn't know if he'd make it to Leslie's house by 6:30. Michael knew Leslie wanted to talk to him, so what would she do if Peter were late? He felt like he was letting her down in the biggest way.

Peter didn't mind the speeding ticket nearly as much as he feared messing up their plan. It was going to be unpleasant enough as it was…

When the cop finally let him go, Peter realized he was going to be late—there wasn't any doubt left.

Mike's kisses , against his will, were getting more and more demanding. He was trying to be unassuming, but he needed her so badly, now that he'd discovered how wondrous their lovemaking could be. Leslie couldn't even enjoy it, knowing Peter would be there at any moment. It was 6:30 right now, and Mike was steadily nudging her in the direction of the bedroom. This couldn't have happened at a worse time.

She thought of telling him it was her time of the month, but there had already been enough deception going on. She'd just have to hope that they still had their clothes on when Peter came to the door. She stalled, batting her eyelashes coyly at Mike, thinking about how his libido was going to cool to ice when he heard what had been going on behind his back.

Mike's ardor was increasing with each passing moment. Where the hell was Peter? Maybe he'd chickened out! He'd been very ill at ease by the time he'd left yesterday. It was now 6:40 by her watch, and Michael was doing his best to turn her on. She couldn't let go, no matter how much she wanted Michael.

The next thing she knew, Michael had eased them both down onto the bed, breathing laboriously into her ear, kissing her wildly. He drew back. "Okay, I'm sorry I was so aggressive. You make me like that, you know. Now… we can just lay here and talk if that's what you want. You know I'm not going to behave like those guys in your past."

Even through her raw nerves, Michael was turning her on. He wasn't overly pushy, so she let him kiss her fully. It was becoming apparent now that Peter wasn't going to show up. It was already almost ten minutes to seven. Even if Peter still showed up, she just wouldn't answer the door. So she kissed Michael back, unbuttoning his shirt and letting desire take over.

Her blouse and his shirt came off shortly afterward, and Michael deftly demonstrated his talent at unhooking her bra. Michael was lying halfway on top of her, kissing her passionately when they heard a slight shuffling sound, and Breezy's tail wagging so hard it was thumping against the wall.

"Leslie? Leslie, are you alright?"

Peter had finally arrived, running all the way from the Pad to Leslie's house, 25 minutes late. He'd knocked at the door, but there'd been no answer. He got worried when he thought about Michael. Had Leslie already told him? He knew Michael wouldn't hurt her, but still… this was not normal for her not to answer the door. Her car was in the parking lot. He got scared out of his wits when he tried the door knob and found it unlocked.

It was deadly quiet in the house as he stepped in silently. Something was definitely wrong. He knew where Leslie's bedroom was because of the spider incident.

"Leslie?" he called out. "Leslie, are you alright?" He was almost to her bedroom door by the time Michael realized someone was in the house. Just as he was about to pull his lips away, he realized someone was at the bedroom door, and the voice had been all too familiar.

Peter poked his head around the corner and saw Michael and Leslie, both topless, and kissing passionately on the bed. He was frozen in place for a moment. _Christ! What do I do now? _

At the same instant, he felt a tightening in his crotch. He could hardly believe he was getting aroused at a time like this!

"Pete! _What the hell are you doing here?"_

Mike's voice snapped Peter back to reality, and he did the first thing instinct told him to do. He turned and fled…


	15. Chapter 15

Michael couldn't believe his eyes. He blinked them, and realized he wasn't mistaken.

"_Pete!_ What the hell are _you _doing here?" It was said too late, as Peter was already almost out the front door.

"What the fu…. Leslie!" Michael was glaring down into her eyes, and it was unnerving. "That was…. that was… _Peter_! My roommate! My friend!" Then he went completely silent. Mike was indisputably in a state of shock. At first his look was vacant, then as Leslie continued to watch him, she saw the storm of emotions sweep across his expression. For some reason, she couldn't seem to be able to think of a single thing to say.

"What the hell was _Peter_ doing here? Peter… _you know_ _Peter_," rambled Michael, in a voice that was aghast and disbelieving. Once again there was silence as Michael tried to digest what he'd just seen.

"Yes… yes, Michael. I know Peter." She'd finally been able to get her vocal chords to work. Michael still had that unfocused look in his eye.

"When did you meet Peter? And for God's sake, _why_ was he in your house?"

"Michael, let's get up and… get our shirts on. We need to talk."

Michael's eyes were burning with fire now. Peter was right—he was frightful when angry. "Damn right we need to talk!"

Leslie's pulse pounded. Everything was surreal. This was going to be just as bad she'd feared.

In stiff silence they put their clothes on. Leslie noticed Michael had to steady himself by bracing against the headboard for a second. Her heart hurt at the sight. She hated making him take this huge impact. She felt sick. No one was to blame but herself. They sat down, side by side on the bed after they were dressed. Leslie waited—waited for the blast of emotions and anger.

Michael turned to her—his eyes dilated from the shock; she noticed his hands were quivering. He seemed to be attempting to compose himself. "I want to know…" Michael's voice quavered and he looked clammy. Then with easily detected effort, he blurted out his worst fear. "I want to know... are you sleeping with him?"

"No! No, Michael, I'm not. He was supposed to be here at 6:30 so we could both talk to you…"

"Both talk to me? About _what?"_ She saw it in his mannerisms, his agitation—control was almost out of his reach.

"To tell you we met a few months ago… not long after you and I met. We were just friends, Michael."

"_Were_ just friends?" Michael had picked right up on that. "And you're not now? Meaning there's more there than friendship?" Michael was starting to come out of his fog. Things were gaining clarity, and they were _alarming. _Why would Leslie keep a friendship with Peter from him? She'd slipped up with her use of the word "were." _Sleeping together or not, there was more than friendship here._

"I'll tell you, but first… please promise… you won't blow up," Leslie was outwardly nervous—more than that, she was looking almost as terrified as that night months ago when he'd caught her on the beach.

He gulped in a deep, shuddering breath and rubbed the back of his aching neck. He was trying to regain his equanimity… he was trying so _damn_ hard. But Leslie had just admitted to going behind his back with _Peter,_ of all people! _Fuck!_ And Peter was clearly so comfortable with her that he'd walked right into her house! How many _other_ times had he just walked in like that? Slow, steady, deep breaths brought him back to some semblance of sanity. Enough to let Leslie explain. He had to at least let her have her say.

"Go ahead. I won't blow up…but… Leslie, _please,_ tell me the truth." His dark eyes pleaded with her.

Leslie took a deep breath of her own, then told Michael how she'd met Peter on the beach, not knowing anything about him. How Peter didn't tell her anything about himself or his life for the same reason Michael hadn't told her about his roommates. "I swear it's the truth, Michael. He admitted it to me later on. I had no idea he was your roommate. It sounds crazy, but it's true."

"Well, why in hell didn't you tell me?"

"In the beginning? Because I was afraid you'd be… jealous …okay… I was afraid of losing you."

Now was not the time to be holding back her feelings for Michael. "It was bizarre… For the longest time, I didn't know Peter was your roommate, and Peter didn't know you and I were seeing each other, although he knew I was seeing _someone._ I found out you were his roommate when he drove Breezy to the vet hospital the night she got hit… and I saw the Monkeemobile. That's when it all came out."

"So what's going on between you? And Leslie… I want the truth. All of it."

There wasn't anything between us but friendship until that night, just a few days ago. But it happened before I knew he was your roommate."

"_What _happened before you knew?"

"A kiss…. Well, several kisses. It just happened."

Michael let out a bitter laugh. "It just happened. A kiss doesn't _just happen,_ Leslie."

"I swear to you, I didn't know how I felt about him… until it happened."

"So you've been seeing Peter and me both? How did you manage that?"

"I saw you different days or nights of the week."

"But that implies guilt. I'm surprised you let this snowball like it did. Your actions imply you had something to hide."

"I really didn't have anything to hide, Michael! Like I said, I was afraid you'd be jealous of Peter. I was remembering how you'd been hurt in the past. I was afraid you'd walk away."

"Has anything happened besides kissing?"

"No. Peter will confirm that," she was sorry the moment she said it.

Michael laughed harshly again. "Do you think I'm dumb enough to think Peter would admit it if something did?"

Michael thought again. Peter really _hadn't _lied to him. He just hadn't mentioned Leslie. _How convenient, _Michael thought bitterly. But to be fair to Peter, he hadn't known Leslie was seeing Michael until the night in question.

"So you obviously have… feelings for him." Although Michael had asked her, he didn't want her to answer—didn't want to hear it.

"Yes. Peter was supposed to be here at 6:30 so we could tell you. But obviously he was late. I'm shocked that he acted the coward like he did."

Michael leaned back on the bed, supporting himself on his elbows and thought about what had just been said. Sounded like Leslie had had a full time job just keeping himself and Peter apart. How she'd managed it was a miracle.

"He'll be back," Michael's tone was completely confident. His inflection had also softened considerably. He no longer looked quite so angry.

"He ran out the door! He doesn't want to be anywhere around here."

"He ran out because of what he saw. We were half undressed. He wouldn't have left otherwise. I know Peter… like a book. He'll be back."

_He knew Peter like a book._ That fascinated Leslie. She'd had them so separate in her mind, yet in reality, they were very close. Very close, good friends. What a hell of a thing to wrap her mind around!

Michael looked so sure of his words that Leslie didn't question it. And when she thought about it, Peter wasn't the type who would stick around if he caught a couple half clothed on a bed. He probably realized how wrong he'd been to walk into her bedroom like that. She did remember him calling her name and asking if she were alright as he walked in. He'd just been concerned about her…

Michael sighed heavily. "I never thought I'd defend anyone in a situation like this, but I can't say I blame him, Leslie… I couldn't resist you either. When he finally found out who you were seeing, he was already in too deep."

"I suppose. We did share a couple more kisses after I saw the Monkeemobile. We were both shocked to the core, of course. I really think Peter was afraid that was it…that it was over. We're both guilty about that, and I can't excuse it. Not that this has anything to do with it, but the conversations I've had with him… have told me a lot about you two. His respect for you is impressive. Even though I didn't know it was you he was talking about."

She had fully expected Michael to lose it again after she told him she and Peter had kissed a few more times. But, miraculously, he didn't. He had a resigned look on his face. It wasn't despair; it was more like quiet, yet reluctant acceptance.

"Do you have any other fish on the line?" asked Michael.

Leslie just stared at him, dumbfounded. "Of course not!" She had no place trying to be self-righteous though, and she knew it. No matter if it had been one person or ten people, she'd still deceived Michael.

"I'm sorry, that was out of line. I'm just… still having a hard time with it," Michael turned on his side and rested his head in his hand as if very weary.

"You and I had not reached relationship status, that I know of. And I'm not perfect—I'm only human."

"When did you develop this… attraction to him?"

"I don't know, exactly. I always thought he was cute… and so sincere, but I didn't know I felt anything more than affectionate friendship until the night Breezy got hit. And even then… it happened in the blinking of an eye."

"It's almost always Davy who sweeps girls away before anyone else can get to know them…" Michael was reflecting. "I never would have suspected Peter, though."

Just then there was a tentative knock on the door.

"Told you he'd be back," said Michael, exhibiting amazing poise as he headed to the front door. Only Michael… thought Leslie. Only Michael could be so gracious in a situation such as this. The man was pure dignity.

When he opened the door, Mike glowered at Peter. Leslie stood back, studying their faces.

"Come in," said Michael. "You obviously know your way around, Pete." His voice was sarcastic and icy around the edges. The three of them sat down on the couch awkwardly.

"Michael, I never… expected it to happen," said Peter. "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"The kisses. Even if she hasn't told you, I will. We kissed. I'm sorry I ran away like that… but… it wasn't right of me to barge in on you like that. I was hurrying…to get here to talk to you with Leslie, then a cop pulled me over… and when Leslie didn't answer the door… I got worried… I guess she more or less told you the story by now."

"So only kisses happened between you two?" Michael searched Peter's face for traces of deception.

"Yes," Peter's eyes met his squarely. "Still no excuse for it though…" Peter looked down at the carpet.

"The way that dog wagged her tail when you walked in tells me you've been over here quite a bit."

Peter nodded, then looked at Leslie, careful not to stare at her too much, as he was under Michael's unrelenting scrutiny.

"I'm sorry I was late, Leslie. I really tried hard to get here on time. I didn't mean to let you down."

"I know that, Peter." She didn't doubt it. It wasn't in his nature to just not show up.

It looked so strange to Leslie to see the two of them together. She supposed she'd get used to it—that is, if she were lucky enough to keep them both around. She doubted it, but even if she were that lucky, there wouldn't be any more than a friendship with either of them after this… Michael wouldn't trust her ever again, and Peter wouldn't do that to Michael.

And, amazingly, she felt the love between them. Even in the midst of this tense, torrid situation. It was warm, its presence palpable. She remembered how whenever Michael had mentioned the Peter who was his band mate, he'd done it with tenderness, affection. Even though Mike was still a bit on guard, touchy, the closeness between them couldn't be hidden. She was astonished at how quickly Michael had evened out, how much easier and fluid his movements were now. He was slowly thawing. He could tell that Leslie and Peter were telling the truth. Peter, seeing Mike's composure, was quickly relaxing too.

"We have to talk about this, you know," Michael, the authority at the Pad—that person used to being in charge, was surfacing now. He had to have order, it was just the way he was.

"You have feelings for each other," Mike started the conversation.

Peter nodded, so Leslie followed suite and nodded too, instead of speaking. It was all that was necessary anyway.

Peter felt somewhat relieved, as it was clear now that Michael knew their position. Michael obviously believed them that they hadn't been to bed together.

"I'm sorry, Michael," Leslie spouted out, suddenly remembering with horror that she hadn't even apologized to him yet.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about Peter when I first met him. I'm sorry for this whole thing. You were both in the dark. The gist of the blame lies with me."

Michael didn't say anything; he just sat there, driving her crazy wondering what he was thinking.

"Okay, Shotgun. It's not like you to see another man's woman, even though you didn't know it was me. I'm surprised at you," Michael said without any edge to his voice, just genuine inquisitiveness. "But on the same hand, I can't say I blame you…. She's a very special woman."

"You got that right," said Peter quietly. "And no, I wouldn't have done something like that normally."

"Shotgun?" asked Leslie.

"It's an expression he uses a lot for all of us at the Pad," explained Peter.

"What I don't understand… is how you got her confidence so quick, Peter. She shined me on at first, to say the very least."

"I was playing with Breezy on the beach. Leslie was looking for her… and stumbled right into me."

"He was very non-threatening," said Leslie.

"And I _was _threatening?" Mike had to laugh. He was well aware of his ability to look menacing. But if ever there were a contest for appearing non-threatening, Peter would be an excellent contender.

"That's why you were going out onto the beach at night!" exclaimed Peter to Mike.

"Yep, and the same goes for you. Who would ever guess it was the same woman…" Michael looked pensive. "Amazing…"

"You floppy enough yet?" asked Peter of Mike.

"Getting' there, but not quite."

Peter got up, went around behind the couch and began massaging Mike's shoulders. He was so relieved Michael didn't want to kill him, that he'd almost literally do _anything_ for him right now.

"You see, Leslie…" said Mike as Peter continued his massage. "If it were any guy… other than Peter… this would be an entirely different story. But I know Pete never meant to hurt me. He's been a good friend for too long."

"Yep, we're best friends," confirmed Peter.

"I can't tell you how relieved I am," said Leslie. "I was sure something really terrible was going to happen. You know… the funny thing is, Peter knew your name was Michael, but he didn't realize it was _you."_

"Later on, I also knew you were a musician," said Peter. Mike just shook his head in bewilderment.

"So… what are we going to do about this?" Mike asked the two of them in general. Neither one, of course, had a clue what to say to him. Slowly though, Peter worked up the courage to give his input.

"You met her first, Michael… I'll step aside." Peter looked briefly at Leslie, then at Mike. His throat was closing around a huge lump. At this point, he felt he'd die without Leslie in his life. Neither one gave him any feedback.

Silence rolled in like the thick fog often did on the beach.

"What do you feel about this, Leslie?" Mike was putting her on the spot. She wet her lips, stalling for a moment.

"Well…" she said carefully, "I care for both of you, and I've told you as much. But it's true that I met you first, Michael. If I could remain friends with Peter, it would be wonderful, but it's really your call."

"Tell you what… Peter and I can go to the Pad and discuss this tonight, and maybe on our next opportunity we can both come over and talk about it further, and, afterward, play for you. Peter plays a mean bass."

"I'd love that!"

"Also, I'd like you come to come over sometime real soon and meet Davy and Micky, the other two band members. Also, if you want, you can go to a gig with us." Mike looked at Peter, who eagerly nodded.

Leslie found herself deliriously happy. This whole mess had turned into a blessing. Things were finally coming together, and who would have known a confrontation would bring it about? It seemed a little too good to be true, and she hoped it wasn't a false sense of security she was feeling.

Leslie followed them outside and watched them get into the Monkeemobile and drive off to their parking space way over on the far end of the parking lot. She still was amazed at seeing them together. It just looked so weird. The two guys she had gone to so much painstaking trouble to keep apart, and all the time, they'd been best friends! How ironic.

When they got home, the emotional toll hit both of them. Mentally drained, they agreed to rest for a while before talking. It was still early. Each went into his own bedroom.

_He'd seen her breast._ Well, at least part of it. When Peter had looked around the corner, into the bedroom, Mike had been lying halfway on top of her, and about half of her breast had been showing. The other half was hidden underneath Michael's chest, but… it had looked so soft, so pretty. He'd almost seen her nipple, but not quite…Her arms had been wrapped around Michael's neck, and although Peter had felt a jab of jealousy, he'd also gotten sexually stimulated at the sight. He tried to analyze that now, as he lay on his bed with his eyes closed.

And it wasn't just Leslie that had stimulated him. It had been _both_ of them, kissing the way they were, like they wanted to eat each other up. Michael's hairy bare chest pressed into her bare breasts—holy shit, that had turned him on! He supposed Leslie had thought he wasn't going to show up, as he'd been almost half an hour late. He wondered if, had he shown up a little later, he might have caught them in some sexual act. His cock was swelling rapidly now, and it confused him that seeing Leslie, the girl of his dreams, with another man, would do that to him. But… he reminded himself—it wasn't just another man… it was Michael…

A little later, they had dinner with Micky and Davy. It was some concoction Micky had thought up this time—a donut and banana casserole with buttermilk poured over the top for moisture, then baked. It tasted very strange, but it at least took the edge off their hunger.

"Now that we're making more money, we really need to start eating healthier, you know," said Davy.

"I like ordering pizza best. It's primo," said Micky.

"Gotta agree—pizza is where it's at," was Michael's comment.

"Don't forget, I make a wicked cream of root beer soup," Peter reminded them. They all became silent in an instant, not wanting to offend Peter, yet remembering how it was nearly impossible to eat more than half a cup of the stuff without feeling like they wanted to puke their guts out.

By now it was 9pm, and Micky said he wanted to crash. Mike knew what he was really going to do, and was glad he and Peter planned to stay up to talk, as he really didn't want to be in the room with Micky when he read his girly magazines. He knew what Micky would be doing under the covers. Davy went upstairs to listen to his transistor radio, which worked out perfectly for Mike and Peter. Otherwise, they would have had to leave the Pad in order to talk.

"So… how long were you two making plans to tell me?" asked Michael.

"For a while. We didn't know how to go about it, really. And we were just friends for most of it. Still doesn't… make it right though."

"How do you feel about her, babe?" asked Mike.

"Strongly." _Well, that said a hell of a lot,_ thought Mike. With only one word, Peter had gotten the idea across.

"Me too," admitted Mike.

"She's a trip, isn't she?" said Peter. "She's not like any other girl I've ever known."

"I agree she's very different," agreed Mike. "In what ways do you like her?" he was feeling mildly questing now.

"She's sweet, she's funny, and she's fun to be with. She doesn't make me feel inferior. She's ladylike. And mostly, she just seems to… accept me the way I am."

"Yeah… she's like a little girl in some ways, but still very much a woman." He'd said this last part without thinking. Despite himself, Mike blushed a bit. Peter hadn't been intimate with her like he had. But he _had_ kissed her, and Mike found himself wondering what she thought of the two of them and their kissing skills. He wondered whose kisses she liked the best. This line of thinking was obtuse—more like something a fourteen year old would think about. Obviously she was impressed with _both _of them. Yes, that was pretty clear, after tonight's meeting.

"What're you thinking?" asked Peter.

Michael came out of his trance with a start. "Oh, just wondering who she likes to kiss the most. I think it's pretty obvious that she digs both of us." He might as well be honest, if he expected Peter to be honest with him. Peter was never really openly dishonest—he just avoided unpleasant situations with half-truths when he felt there was no other way out of it.

Michael had shocked himself silly when he realized he hadn't been all that upset to find out about Peter and Leslie. A bit disturbed, to be sure, but devastated? Far from it. Now… thinking about them making love was too much to deal with, but kissing he didn't have too much of a problem with. And who was he kidding? He knew it was _only _because it was _Peter._

"Does it bother you a lot?" Peter brought him out of his trance again. "No… that's just what I was thinking over. I don't have much of a problem with it, which shocks the fuck out of me."

"Me too…" Peter really didn't know _what _to think right now.

"So, we both met her in the same way…on the beach at night, under the moon, and now we share her. At least for the moment…"

Peter could hardly believe his ears. Michael was acknowledging out loud that they shared her without wigging out? Peter felt as if something were left unspoken.

"I have a thought…"

"Lay it on me," said Peter, at this point, prepared for just about anything.

"I think I might be able to live with her seeing us both, if it means not losing her…"

Well, even though Peter _thought _he'd been prepared, he hadn't. This was the last thing on earth he'd expected to come from Michael. He just gazed at Michael with a bemused look on his face.

"I know it's a lot to take in, but if it makes her happy to have both of us….How do you feel about it? Just out of curiosity."

"Holy shit, it's a lot to think about," is all Peter could come up with.

Michael gave Peter a few minutes, then changed the subject a bit.

"So you took Breezy to the vet? With all that was going on, I couldn't focus on it, but how did she get hit by a car, anyway?"

"I think you guys must have left the door open when you went over there that night." He didn't mention he'd seen them leave the door open once before, accident though it was. Leslie had shut it that time, but he could see them both forgetting, remembering how they'd acted the night he'd seen them from the beach. They'd been all over each other.

Michael suddenly remembered how they'd been so lost in each other's eyes. It was entirely possible he hadn't shut the door.

"It's my fault. I'd bet you anything I didn't shut the door!" said Michael, guilt clawing mercilessly at him. "It's a miracle she didn't get killed. I'll have to reimburse Leslie for the vet bill."

"I already tried—several times. She kept giving the check back to me, or ripping it up," said Peter.

"But it wasn't your fault."

"I know—I was just afraid… she might not be able to afford it."

Michael nodded. "Maybe we can make it up to her somehow. I mean, me… I'm the one responsible. I'll think of something."

Peter didn't say anything, but he'd already made an attempt once again. He hoped it worked this time.

Peter was delighted at how easy it was for them to talk about Leslie. But he wondered what Mike had meant by Leslie having both of them. Surely he couldn't mean…. That they'd both be dating her, and that, if she wanted it, maybe going further? Peter, not having a lot of confidence in himself, couldn't even imagine Leslie sleeping with him, but she and Michael had already had sex. Michael was generous, but what guy in his right mind would be _that_ generous? To allow Peter to date her, and maybe kiss her? He wanted to ask Michael about it, but how do you word something like that? For the time being, he was just so grateful that Mike wasn't hating him.

The next day, the mail brought an envelope with a Peter Tork, 1334 N. Beechwood Dr. return address on it. Inside was another check, a smiley face sticker taped to it. She smiled and laughed out loud. The guy just wouldn't give up!

Last night had gone like a good dream. Peter and Michael were still best friends, and it seemed things weren't about to change between them. They had history together—a foundation. It was with a bouncy, springy step that Peter followed the other guys out to the Monkeemobile to go to practice.

"Wanna go see Leslie after practice?" asked Mike when Davy and Micky were out of earshot.

"Sure!"

"Okay, don't forget your bass. I'll call her after practice and see if she'll be available. Between the two of us, we should be able to hit her with quite a few love songs," Michael winked at Peter, then went about his business…


	16. Chapter 16

Man, was Mrs. Marston ever going to get an earful _this _week! Leslie eagerly headed out to see her the next morning. On her way, she slipped Peter's envelope back into her mailbox with a "return to sender" scrawled on it. Inside the envelope with his check, she had included a note that said, "I don't think you want this check crammed down your throat—you might have trouble digesting it." Then she'd resealed the envelope with tape, and smiled.

Breezy was back to her same, joyful self, albeit with a toenail that needed to do some more growing, so Leslie took her along, making sure her favorite ball came along too. Leslie knew Veronica would be playing with Breezy for most of the visit, and that is when Leslie planned on catching Mrs. Marston up to date.

When Leslie pulled up, Mrs. Marston was almost afraid to find out what had transpired since the last visit, since she'd known in her heart that it wouldn't be long before everything came out, and she feared for either boy to be hurt, and she most certainly feared for Peter's well-being, as Michael could probably easily annihilate him if he wanted to. Peter might be faster, but she felt Michael would be more deadly accurate if he were in a rage.

Leslie's smile, however, told her otherwise. She was glowing again. There was high color to her cheeks, and she had a light, airy quality to her.

"You aren't pregnant are you, dear?" Mrs. Marston's brow furrowed with concern. Leslie blushed. "No, no... I'm on the pill, so no worries. It's just that…Mrs. Marston…things have been put to rights with Peter and Michael!"

"They have? Wait a minute…you mean Michael knows about Peter?"

"Yes. And you'll die when you hear this …. Peter walked into my house when Michael was there! And one thing you don't know—they know each other."

"_What?"_ Mrs. Marston's eyes were huge.

"Yes, it's true! Michael had talked about one of his roommates now and then, whose name was Peter, but I didn't make the connection. I'd mentioned to Peter that my boyfriend's name was Michael, but he didn't think anything of it, as it's such a common name. So all this time, I've been seeing two guys who are not only roommates, but get this, also best friends! I didn't tell you the whole story last time I saw you—I thought you'd worry too much, considering I laid Breezy's accident on you too. But I knew, as of the night of her accident, that Peter was Michael's roommate."

"That's really shocking! I thought it would have been good soap opera material before, but this beats all! How'd you find out?"

"When Peter took Breezy to the vet, he drove the Monkeemobile, so … there it was. Pretty obvious."

Leslie laughed. Mrs. Marston was now staring into space, trying to take it all in. It was quite a bit to soak up all at once.

"Anyway, Michael was angry at first, but it didn't last long. He and Peter are really close." Leslie then told her the entire story, and Mrs. Marston's attention was rapt.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything before, but I wanted to be sure things were going to be okay before I did."

Leslie went on excitedly. "And Michael said they'd be over soon to play for me, and that's not all! He invited me to a gig!" Leslie was fairly overflowing with gladness, and it was contagious. Mrs. Marston clapped her hands in glee.

"But... I don't understand... does this mean Peter will be out of... the picture?"

"No, I don't think so. Not the way Michael's acting. I don't want to jinx anything, but they're supposed to come over, like I said, and Michael said we could discuss it further."

"Discuss it further…. does that mean you might still be able to keep Peter's friendship?" Mrs. Marston's smile nearly spread across her entire face. She really liked Peter.

"Well, I don't want to speculate too much… but I think there's a good chance, yes!"

"Ohhhh…" Mrs. Marston put her hand on her chest in relief. "You have no idea how I've worried about you and those boys. I thought it might come to blows between them… I didn't want them killing each other!" She laughed, and Leslie suspected it was mostly a release of anxiety.

"But the fact that they were roommates, band mates and best friends all along. How outlandish is that?"

Mrs. Marston giggled. "You're going to have to bring both of them to visit sometime. But I'll warn you-they're so charming, so handsome, so endearing that it might be a bit of sensory overload for me!" She turned bright red. "Oh, to be your age again…if I were, I'd gladly take one of them off your hands!"

"Oh… and you were right… Mrs. Marston… about Peter. I _do_ feel something for him. In fact, we kissed that night at the vet clinic. I told Michael too, and he took it pretty well, a lot better than I thought he would. Nothing has happened since, with Peter."

"I knew it… I knew you felt something for Peter! Oh, these modern day relationships—you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but do seriously think about telling me what transpires!"

Leslie laughed—Mrs. Marston was so modern that she never felt judged when she confided in her. She was motherly, but at the same time, she was like a close girlfriend you tell your secrets to. The best of both worlds.

When Leslie got home later, the phone was ringing as she let herself in. It was Michael, wondering if he and Peter could come over after practice, at around 7. Leslie assured him it was fine, and she'd have a chicken dinner ready, so not to eat before they came. That chicken was finally going to be cooked and eaten, and enjoyed!

Breezy was worn out from her time at the shelter with Veronica, and was already fed, walked and asleep by the time the guys arrived. Leslie truly didn't know how to greet them for a few awkward moments.

Michael stepped in first and hugged her closely and warmly. When he stepped back, she and Peter just gazed at each other. "Well, go ahead and hug, if that's what you usually do," said Mike softly. It felt so foreign and almost exhibitionistic to hug Peter in front of Michael, but they did. Peter wasn't quite as enthusiastic as he usually was, under the watchful eye of Mike, and she didn't blame him.

However, after they'd stepped into the living room, Michael threw his arm around Peter, carefully avoiding knocking their guitars together. Trying to put him at ease. They slung the instruments off their backs, then sat down at the kitchen table, which was already set, and Leslie brought over the chicken, potatoes, asparagus and biscuits. She also had a bowl of peas in case either of them didn't care for asparagus. But neither one was picky, after having to fend for themselves in the food department for the last few years. They dug into the food with gusto, and even ate every last sprig of the asparagus. This brought a smile to Leslie's face. Her nurturing side made her content to see the guys eating well.

Michael's manner was smooth and unencumbered. This was contagious, and Leslie and Peter followed his example, and soon the three of them were talking around the table like a family. Peter did a good amount of unrestrained smiling, and Michael even threw in a few smiles. After dinner, Leslie did the dishes and Michael rinsed, leaving Peter to dry. Then they sat down in the living room and Michael and Peter proceeded to give her a good two hours of quiet, romantic entertainment with their instruments. Leslie was enchanted, watching Peter play his bass. She hadn't been able to imagine it when she'd found out he was a musician, but now she saw how naturally he plucked the strings, his long fingers working understated miracles. Like Michael, he caressed his instrument, musically expressing something to be cherished. He and Michael played together as if they'd been doing it all their lives. Michael did most of the singing, as Peter's voice was a bit weaker, but Peter's greater skills with the instrument made up for it. They also did a lot of playing without singing. It almost put Leslie into a trance—it was so visionary. She felt restored. Her imagination ran wild, thinking about making love with Michael, which she already knew was superb, but also surpassing this, and fantasizing lightly about Peter. She thought she would surely shrink from such thoughts, but they came naturally. She decided that even thoughts such as those were allowed tonight, as long as she didn't state them out loud. The very air seemed to vibrate with something electric.

Michael's picks leaned heavily on the country side—Peter's more to the blues side. They switched back and forth fluidly, as if reading each other's minds. Leslie floated through the entire thing feeling as though she were being treated to something everyone else was denied access to. She felt special, privileged, to be chosen to share this musical magic with them.

When the music finally stopped, Michael cleared his throat and adjusted his posture as if preparing to make a speech. Clearly, he was a bit uneasy. "Been wondering how to bring this up… but I guess straight shooting is the best way. Leslie… are you going to keep Peter as a friend?"

_So here we go, _thought Leslie. He hadn't given her any time to prepare, and caught unaware, she faltered for a second. "Ummm…..I'd love to, Michael… as long as it doesn't make you uncomfortable."

"No… I thought I'd be unreasonably jealous… and…yes… everything would be different if it were another guy. But Peter… I know I can trust him. You can even date him if you'd like. I mean… that sounds odd. What I mean is… it doesn't have to be … strictly friends between you two."

Leslie and Peter just sat there, frankly astonished, staring at Michael in dumbfounded silence, not daring to look at each other. Neither one knew how to react, or what to say. It seemed that no matter what they said, it could too easily be the wrong thing—and neither one wanted to risk rubbing Mike the wrong way. Best to keep their mouths shut. Thoughts of dating them both consumed Leslie. Peter felt vulnerable, as if it were a trap, even though he knew it wasn't. His head was reeling with the unreality of it all. Michael realized the impact of his words, so he left things where they were, deciding to pursue the conversation at some other time. This was more than enough for now.

After the mostly one-sided conversation, Michael formally invited her to their next gig, which was Friday. He and the others would be picking her up and taking her to the club. But first, he wanted her to come over tomorrow after practice to meet Micky and Davy. Leslie couldn't help being nervous, as this had been anticipated on her part for quite a while. When they left that night, they both hugged her, but no kisses came about from either one of them-not even on the cheek. This perplexed her, but when you thought about it, Michael probably wouldn't yet be comfortable with kissing her in front of Peter, knowing she and Peter had kissed not that long ago. It would take time. So he left it out entirely, and of course, following his lead, Peter did too. After what Michael had said tonight, some tact was called for.

Leslie felt comfortable with the other two Monkees almost right away. Davy was every bit as British, handsome and charming as Michael had claimed he was. And Micky was just as zany and funny as she'd expected too, with his own brand of cuteness, but Leslie had eyes only for Michael and Peter. Of course, she didn't let on about her feelings for Peter in front of the other two. She didn't want to make Michael feel foolish, or bring about any suspicions, so she saved most of her smiles for Michael, treating Peter the same as she treated Davy and Micky—as if she barely knew him, but enjoyed his company. She assumed Michael hadn't told Micky and Davy about Peter and herself. Which was just as well, as she would have turned ten shades of red, had they known.

Micky and Davy cast sidelong glances at Leslie, being careful not to outright ogle her. _So this was the mysterious woman Michael had been seeing._ They both highly approved. She was smart, polite, and very sweet, not to mention very pretty. They were happy for Mike. It was about time he found a nice girl. God knows, he'd been through the wringer with women.

Everything was easy and light at the Pad, especially since Leslie had brought Breezy along. Michael had suggested it, knowing Micky and Davy loved animals just as much as he and Peter did. And Breezy was indeed a hit. She loved wrestling with Davy on the floor, and chasing Micky up and down the stairs. She didn't quite know what to do though, when he slid down the bannister. She barked at him in frustration as he went sliding by. They all laughed so hard that Leslie felt like she was completely accepted by the end of the evening.

"Ready for tonight?" Michael asked Peter casually as they began to load their equipment into the Monkeemobile.

"Yeah, we did real good this week. I think we're all on the same page," said Peter.

"No, I meant… with Leslie going along."

"Oh… I admit, yeah… it makes me a little edgy about messing up, but… well, _you _know how it is." Peter looked at Mike with questing eyes. He couldn't fully explain himself, as it might make Michael feel a bit on the jealous side.

"Yeah, I do. I know you have feelings, Pete. Keep that in mind. Don't go out of your way to avoid mentioning it… I'm not gonna blow up at you," Mike gently patted Peter on the butt as he went to help Micky with the drums. _ So… _thought Peter._ Perhaps he's giving me a thumbs-up about my desire for Leslie. Just acknowledging the desire though, not endorsing any action on my part._

Then that eerie feeling surfaced again. That…. Aroused feeling. Michael's hand when he'd patted his butt. Being young with active male hormones was a real pain in the ass at times, mused Peter. He smiled serenely to himself and concentrated on their choice of songs for tonight.

At the club, things got interesting very quickly. Micky's drums sounded so good accompanying Mike and Peter, then Davy's tambourine or maracas (whichever he was using at the time) added the finishing classy touch. So did Davy's little dance moves. That little guy had _loads_ of class.

But Peter… oh Lord. Leslie was anything but prepared for what she witnessed when they were barely into their third song. At the beginning of that song, Peter performed a riff on his bass that sounded so good, even to Leslie's untrained ear, that she felt a tingling in a special area. To top that off, somehow that song changed Peter right before her eyes. He was having so much fun, smiling and offsetting Michael's quiet, subdued performance as distinctive as the moon differed from the sun. His hips gyrated and swiveled, thrusting right into his bass, as he flipped his gorgeous blond head of hair out of his eyes at the same time. Leslie could hardly catch her breath. It had to rate right up there as one of the sexiest things she'd ever seen in her life.

The contrast was highlighted. There it was again—the differences in their performances was as different as their reactions to life in general. Michael reserved and ever sophisticated and dignified—Peter happy and boyish, always ready to embrace fun.

Then she noticed Davy staring into the audience nonstop as he was singing. She looked over at the table in question, and a beautiful red haired girl was staring right back at him. For a moment there, Leslie thought she saw a strange sparkle in both of their eyes, almost what could be called a starry twinkle, but realized it must be her imagination. It seemed this night was so enchanted that just about anything was possible.

When the boys came over and sat at the table on their break, Leslie mentioned Peter's "enthusiasm," delicately avoiding the words "thrust, "grind" or "hump." They all laughed and Peter blushed. "He really gets into the music," was the general, generic answer she got. How could anyone _not_ notice it, she wondered. They had acted like it was no big deal, but then, they'd seen Peter do it for the last few years.

Mike was secretly glad to hear he wasn't the only one almost painfully aware of Peter's blatant sexuality when he did those certain "moves." He sometimes had trouble keeping his own eyes away from it. Peter was a good dancer, and Michael supposed Peter was just dancing as well as he could with his bass in his hands, but those hips! Those pelvic thrusts! _Christ! He looked as if he were fucking his bass! _And if Mike were to admit it to himself, it was fucking _sexy too! _If Leslie had noticed it enough to mention it, he had no doubt she was imagining how Peter would be in bed. But surprisingly, the jealousy seemed to be lessening more all the time, and quiet acceptance slid smoothly in to take it's place. He realized with shock that he sure wouldn't mind watching Peter giving it to some girl. _Sock it to me! That underlying sexual connotation to the expression..ahhh, yes. _Michael silently laughed at his twisted train of thought. What was he, some kind of voyeur? Peter, the ever innocent Peter, was just enjoying the music and the rhythm, and Michael really doubted he knew what it did to certain individuals—and not all of them were female.

When Leslie asked Peter privately about his movements on the stage, hoping to get a candid answer, Peter said something about "pushing vibrato." Having no musical background, she had no idea what he was referring to, but Peter claimed you had to push your body into your instrument, which, through his efforts, had created a bit of a thrust in his hips at first, and then eventually his signature moves just "happened." Like with Elvis, Peter had developed his very own style, and while it worked musically for him, Leslie knew he had no idea how it affected her and a substantial number of girls in the club. She saw clearly now that his shyness was the only thing keeping him from being swamped nearly as badly as Davy. He had no idea that his shyness came off as standoffishness—the fact that he had trouble looking girls in the eye—had no real flirting skills-and that was all that was saving him. Davy knew how to charm and woo girls—Peter didn't. So, miraculously, that was how he had retained a large portion of his innocence. Now she knew…

Leslie didn't want the night to end. She was fascinated at the variety of rock, pop, country rock, ballads, and even a touch of the blues that the Monkees flowed through effortlessly. Then to top it all off, "Steppin' Stone" was surly and dark, and Micky had picked up the insolent haughtiness of the piece with just the right degree of a scornful sneer peppering his voice. Hearing them all together playing, Leslie truly appreciated the group's diversity, and also why they were so popular that young people all over the county couldn't wait to see them perform.

Leslie couldn't help much with the packing up of the instruments, so she stayed to the side, asking Davy if she could put his tambourine and maracas into the Monkeemobile. He smiled sweetly, insuring her he was capable of tucking them safely on the rear-most seat. Just then a girl approached him, trying to begin a conversation, and he handled it like a pro, gracefully pretending he'd forgotten something inside the Monkeemobile, then smoothly closing the door behind him, and effectively shutting her out. It seemed cold at first, but then Leslie realized there was a long line of girls behind the first one, and Davy really did have to stay alert and watchful at all times. The girl sighed. "Which one are you with?" she asked Leslie.

"Michael," said Leslie, without thinking. "Well, I hope you know how lucky you are… these guys have a lot of girls crying into their pillows every weekend, after seeing them perform," and she walked away, glancing back over her shoulder first to be sure Davy hadn't emerged from the Monkeemobile. The other girls followed her, headed this time, toward Micky. Mike and Peter continued to load the instruments, not making eye contact with anyone. They wanted to get the job done fast, and get the hell out of there. Little did they know it was the very beginning of the Monkeemania that would sweep the country only a little more than a year later.

Mike, Peter and Davy felt the electricity in the air—the desperation of the girls who wanted to meet them, and they sensed the writing on the wall—the warning. Micky was still basking in all the attention he was getting, not realizing the dangerous luring game he was getting sucked into. He was tempting these girls, and they were dangerously tantalized. He was inviting them to take things too far. He was the prize. That was why Michael called to him brusquely as they were readying to leave.

"Mick, get over here, babe. Those girls could go off at any time," he said more quietly.

"Whadda you mean? Go off or get off?" Micky he winked at Mike with a conspiratorial look in his eyes.

Michael signed in annoyance. "They could rush you."

Micky obviously didn't catch Michael's meaning, and how serious the situation really was. Michael finally grabbed Micky's arm and hauled him into the Monkeemobile, Micky protesting all the way.

"Listen Mick, you gotta be careful, man. Those girls dig you—you're a musician, and girls are all over that. Don't you realize how groovy they think you are?"

Micky still looked oblivious. "I don't see how I'm gonna get a stone fox to lay a little lovin' on me if I have to go straight home…" he complained.

"You have to get a feel for chicks—pick one that isn't gonna go crackers on you," suggested Davy. "You have to be _discriminating_," he added, his cute accent emphasizing his train of thought.

"Yeah, you don't want a groupie after you," threw in Peter. "She'll end up bringing all her groupie friends along and tearing your clothes off," Peter blushed after he said this last part, having forgotten about Leslie listening to their exchange.

"Pray tell, what's so bad about some chicks tearing my clothes off?" Micky wanted to know.

"Mick, ever been around frenzied groupies? They go out of their minds. They might pert near kill ya!" Michael couldn't resist this last comment. "Tear out your hair, in addition to your clothes. I hear they can be brutal."

Leslie was trying her best not to giggle, her hand clamped over her mouth.

After letting Leslie and Mike off at her end of the parking lot so he could walk her to her door, they went home without even taking their equipment out of the car. They were all especially tired tonight, and Michael suspected they had all been trying extra hard to impress Leslie. He wouldn't be surprised if _all _of them didn't have a touch of a crush on her.

The goodnights had been said. Peter had lingered in the kitchen for a snack, and Mike was heading toward his room. All the lights, save for the kitchen, were out. Mike heard a slight shuffling behind him.

"Michael…" Peter's voice, hushed and sensual sounding sent smoky rivers of desire shooting through Mike before he even knew what was happening. Peter was stalking up behind him in the hallway like a tiger. Mike felt Peter's breath, warm, ruffling the hair on the back of his neck. He was that close. Mike turned around to face him.

Michael was dimly aware of the rustling of the now empty package of Ding Dongs as Peter crushed it, then, seemingly stalling for time, fiddled with it, before haltingly lifting his hazel gaze to Michael's dark brown one. _How could you help but love Peter?_ So childlike in a myriad of ways, even gullible… Yet that awe inspiring intelligence surfaced just when you thought Peter might be simple… And then you realized just how wrong you really were.

"Your bedroom's upstairs, remember, Shotgun?" Michael fought to keep his voice even.

"I know… I just wanted to… thank you… for being so understanding about Leslie. For being so…" Peter couldn't articulate how he felt. "I feel overwhelmed…" was all he could manage.

"Hey, Pete. She feels something for you. I won't deny her your… company."

Peter mulled that over briefly. "I won't take advantage."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I won't do anything unless it's alright one hundred percent with you."

"Hey, I think Leslie would dump us both if she ever heard what you just said. She has a mind of her own—can make her own decisions. Who's to say she'd _want_ to do anything with you anyway?" Mike said it in a teasing tone, but he was pretty sure Peter knew he did, indeed, want Peter's feedback on the subject.

"I just meant kissing… and I wasn't meaning to refer to her as a… possession or anything...but I don't think she'd ever want more from me anyway. It's you… you she's sweet on."

Mike couldn't help but smile. _Peter_…the way he expressed himself sometimes…how could you help but love the shit out of him?

"You never know, Pete. I wish to God I had all the answers…but you never know."

Peter was slowly inching closer, and Mike faced a moment of panic. Peter was sneaking up on him, whether he knew Michael had noticed or not. They were already standing too damn close as it was. He'd never seen this… interesting look on Peter's face before. Something between concentration and affection. It looked almost painful. But then it vanished in a heartbeat.

"Hey, remember that time we were all messing around, and I licked your neck?" Peter put on a huge smile, so Mike was fairly sure he was just enjoying a fond memory of crazy times—not hinting at anything else. Peter loved to reminisce about things like that. Still… to have Peter mention that was eerie. It was almost as if the same thing were in the back of both of their minds. Mike felt a blush creeping up his neck at the memory of how the licking had excited him.

"Yeah, you're one goofy son of a bitch," replied Mike.

Peter's expression changed yet again. He had a far off look in his eyes. Michael tried to analyze it, but it eluded him. Then Peter closed the one foot gap between them and hugged Mike to him. The hug was not by any definition the kind of hug a man gives another man. It was close, warm, enveloping… and it lasted forever. Felt more like how Mike would hug Leslie—like a lover's hug, much as he hated to admit it. There was no back pounding or the usual rough, gruff stuff. It was just pure affection. Michael found himself not fighting it. Not even _trying_ to step back, as he knew he should.

Peter could hear Michael breathing. A soft, quick huff of exhaled breath. Peter thought he'd probably squeezed the air out of Michael's lungs. But then Mike inhaled, and it couldn't quite be classified as a gasp. _But almost._

_I'm just amorous. It's been a while since I've had Leslie. I just need her, that's all it is. _But, grudgingly, a moment later, Mike had to admit to himself that this hug had nothing to do with Leslie. Nothing at all. It was all about Peter and himself. He knew this as well as he knew his own name. The unsettling arousal was seeping in again, and at an alarming rate. Michael's cock was throbbing, and fully erect the moment their bodies pressed ever closer. It had been half erect before they'd even hugged. Peter's mere nearness had caused it. It had started to stiffen just knowing Peter was walking closely behind him. _God almighty!_ What had come over him?

And yes… the hug was tighter now—Peter had tightened it. And still Michael didn't pull away or even try to lean backward. His face was right in Peter's neck, as Peter's was in his. He was hyper aware of Peter's quickened breath there. He felt goose bumps rising. Michael hated this and loved it at the same time. He bounced back and forth between almost-revulsion and hot desire. The hot desire seemed to be winning.

Mike struggled to control his breathing, as was Peter. The result was two oxygen starved guys who felt as if they'd just sprinted a mile, yet still wouldn't allow themselves to reveal how the other excited them by gulping in the much-needed air. The desire wanted to bust loose, but they both clung stubbornly to their denial.

Surprisingly, it was Peter who finally pulled away. "Well, I guess it's goodnight then," Peter's eyes did not meet Michael's. They seemed to be fixed at a spot behind Michael, on the wall near the floor.

"Yeah, it's pretty late." Mike's attempt at sounding casual was a dismal failure. He knew his voice was quivering. He watched Peter turn and begin climbing the stairs. Once in his room, Mike saw Micky's curly hair poking out from under the blankets, and knew he was already asleep. Micky could fall asleep within three minutes—something Michael had always envied.

He got into bed and thought about how long that hug had lasted. The blood was still thrumming through his veins and his cock. Yep, there was no way either one of them could fool themselves into thinking that was _just a hug._ Mike hadn't timed it, of course, but it must have easily lasted two minutes. Their crotches had been touching too. Not just touching, but pressing, like the rest of their bodies. And, from the feel of it, Michael could almost swear Peter's dick had been just as hard as his had been…


	17. Chapter 17

Perched on one of the bottommost steps outside the Pad, Michael looked out at the ocean, wondering how things had gone awry. How things had gotten so fucking screwed up. His surroundings didn't seem real. Neither did the thoughts that trickled through his head, round and round, like an endless figure eight. Thoughts that were disturbing, confusing, uncomfortable, and a myriad of other things.

For Christ's sake, had Peter really meant to hug him in that way last night? Michael had never had another man infringe on him quite like that. Well, to be truthful, it wasn't really infringing, as he didn't mind Peter's hugs—it was just the _way _Peter had hugged him. It was as if Peter had created an atmosphere just for that encounter, which Michael knew was ridiculous, even as he thought it. Damn it, a man is not supposed to be hugging and holding another man in that way! That is what he'd grown up to believe. Had it been his imagination that Peter was desirous of him, or was Peter merely trying to show him how much he appreciated Michael's understanding about his feelings for Leslie? It was hard to tell—largely because Peter was not afraid to show affection. And his sincerity was stalwart, so Michael couldn't be sure it _wasn't _his imagination. The one thing, though, that_ hadn't_ been his imagination, the one thing that he couldn't deny… had been his own erection.

He pondered now on something else that he could have been imagining—Peter's hard-on. Peter wore his belt buckle off to the side, otherwise Mike would have taken into consideration that the buckle might have been what he'd felt, but this had been in the _front._ Michael tried desperately to think of an explanation. Something in Peter's pocket, maybe? Keys?

Why was all this crazy shit happening right now? He'd just been starting to get into a relationship with a lovely girl, something he'd dreamed of, and waited a very long time for, and then something like this happens? What were the chances of that? Now he was having to compete with Peter for Leslie, and _now__,_ in addition to all that, Peter acting all cozy with _him?_ Insane, that's what it was. It didn't have to be said by now that both of them desired Leslie greatly, yet there was a very clear cut something-or-other that had happened last night during that hug. At least Michael_ thought_ there had been. But the more he brainstormed about it, the more unsure he was, and the more he convinced himself he must have been mistaken. What if he'd taken it out of context? His thoughts continued to bounce back and forth like this until he wondered if he'd be able to be the reasonable, practical person he once was again. One thing was for sure-he'd feel like a pitiful moron if he brought it up to Peter, and found out he was wrong. He'd die of humiliation. So here he was, agonizing over it in silence.

Even analyzing Peter didn't change things about himself, though. He'd_ still_ gotten aroused. It didn't happen when he got close to or had bodily contact with Davy or Micky. And there had been plenty of occasions, as the boys wrestled and rough housed a lot. He'd never had any past feelings for other males, and neither had Peter, as far as he knew. He could only really speak for himself. But hell, last night, you could just_ feel_ it in the air! Perhaps, thought Michael, Leslie brought it out in them. Just thinking about her, wanting her somehow created misdirected lust for each other. Was that possible?

It would have bothered the shit out of Michael even if all he'd felt was lust when Peter had hugged him; that part was bad enough, but the _other stuff_ was even more… distressing. The emotions. The tender feelings he got that made him want to hug back just as eagerly. The loving, affectionate feelings that he should have had only for a woman. That_ really_ bugged him.

Had he just been in denial before—on those occasions where he'd had warm feelings for Peter? Before he even knew Leslie? He hated to admit it, even to himself, but it seemed this had been simmering below the surface for a while.

Who could he talk to about this? No one. Not a damned soul. Not Peter, not Micky, not Davy, not Leslie… not a single friend. No one would understand. They'd all instantly think he was gay. They would judge him. And rightfully so. If someone confided such a thing to him, he _knew _he'd judge them as well, right or wrong, he wouldn't be able to help it, it would just be a reflex reaction. Well, he did have to admit one thing to himself-he was almost one hundred percent sure Peter wouldn't judge him, as it wasn't in Peter's nature, but still… it was _Peter_ who he had the problem with. He was too close to it. If only Peter weren't involved—he'd be the ideal person to turn to. But the way things were, talking to Peter could well be counterproductive. He needed an outside, totally impartial party. And that wasn't going to happen. So he was stuck wondering.

The only thing he could do was wait until or if it happened again and then see if he could find an answer, or at least some kind of clue…Peter, with his sensitivity, could be broken down fairly easily if confronted. That, along with Peter's innate honesty would surely bring out a sincere, genuine account from Peter- free of deceit. But...not only did he not want to break Peter down like that, he also didn't want to upset him unnecessarily. _No one_ who knew him would want to do that to Peter.

Way down deep inside, he knew he really should talk to Peter. That was the best course of action in the end, as Peter wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone. But he didn't want Peter thinking he was gay, on the chance that Peter didn't share these feelings. So this train of thought wasn't getting him anywhere, and he was in one foul mood because of it.

Well, then, that's what he'd have to do—wait and see if it happened again. Then he'd either have to talk to Peter, or shove him away, telling him to keep his hands to himself. Damn it all! Right now he felt like running away—away from this whole, very disturbing situation. He _did _need time away…

That very evening, Leslie was wondering why she hadn't heard from either Michael or Peter. She could understand Peter not calling, as it would be just like him to yield to Michael to give him a chance to see her, but why hadn't Michael called? He almost always called on their break to see if it was alright if he came over. Yet it was one o'clock in the morning, and not a word from him. Maybe he was really tired, too tired to come over. Still… she thought for sure he would at least call to let her know. She wondered if it had to do with Peter. They hadn't made love since before Peter had walked in on them that evening. It could be that Michael didn't trust her anymore because of that. Or had lost respect for her. Well, if that were so, there was no one to blame but herself.

There was a knock on her door as she was getting ready for bed at 1:30. She asked who it was, although, from Breezy's restless pacing and tail wagging, she already knew it was either Michael or Peter. It was Michael. He walked in somberly, bending down to ruffle the hair around Breezy's neck, mumbling some doggie baby talk. Leslie couldn't see Michael ever baby talking to anything other than Breezy. It was charming in a way—the tall, lanky, "tough" guy sweet talking to a dog.

"Sorry I didn't call before coming over," he said, straightening up again, a serious look claiming his face.

"That's alright."

"I need to… talk to you. This thing with Peter, I'm undecided about how I should be reacting." He was, of course, referring to Leslie and Peter, not _himself_ and Peter. God knows, if he told her the whole story, she'd be flipping out, like he had done. One thing at a time… "What I mean is… I don't care how I_ should_ be reacting, since I'm my own person… it's more about how Ineed to be true to myself.How I feel about it in here," he pointed to his heart.

"Are you going to be dating him… if he asks you?"

Leslie suddenly felt hot and uncomfortable. She fidgeted and shuffled around in a small circle on the carpet, examining the fibers, sighing and alternately looking out the window for what she could see of the ocean. Looking at the whitecaps, for both of them, seemed to have a calming influence. "I… don't know. Like I told you, if it means losing you… then no. If you are still of the same mind—that it wouldn't upset you, then I'd think about it." That about covered it as best she could do.

"I still feel the same way. If you want to date Peter, you wouldn't lose me. Unless you chose Peter over me, that is. And then… I'd bow out. But I won't tie you down and tell you not to see him. Do you feel as… strongly about him as you do me?" He didn't know why in hell he'd just asked that question, because he didn't even know how strongly she felt about _him._

He watched her swallow, and shift her weight from one foot to the other. They were still standing in the middle of the living room. "Oh! I'm sorry. Let's sit down," and she moved to the couch, thinking furiously, trying to buy time. Right now was not the time to be saying the wrong thing.

After they were sitting, she motivated herself to be as direct as she could. "I feel something for Peter, yes… but I don't know if it's as strong as what I feel for you."

Michael struggled to break free of his half-aware state. He still felt stunned, wondering if he'd ever come out of this stupor.

"You and I have made love," Michael wished he'd quit blurting things out, because he might hear something from her he didn't want to hear. Not that he thought she and Peter had made love, as he believed them when they said they hadn't. He just was afraid of hearing her say she cared as much for Peter, even though they hadn't slept together. Mike felt he and Leslie were closer because of their intimate experiences. Or maybe, that they_ should_ be closer because of that. He feared underneath, that if she _did_ go to bed with Peter, she might end up caring for him more. Maybe Peter would be better in bed—or more tender and loving. Michael knew he was more experienced sexually than Peter, but that didn't mean Peter couldn't learn. Mike didn't figure that would be a huge obstacle. Expertise in that area was far from the only requirement. Sensitivity, communication, affection, warmth, and kindness were just as important to a woman. And Mike was pretty sure Peter could provide all of those requirements in hefty amounts. More than himself, as Peter was also the sentimental one. Michael himself was cynical, reserved, world weary and jaded in some ways that he could not imagine Peter ever being. That could mean all the difference in the end... if she were to decide to choose between them. And he had to face it—sooner or later, she would. That's just the way life went.

Leslie didn't say a word. She just waited, as his last statement had been just that— a statement, not a question.

"I thought about it, you know. I thought about you… kissing Peter on that night, and it didn't torment me like I thought it would. I mean… it bothered me, but… I don't know how to explain this to you… Peter isn't like other men."

Leslie raised her eyebrows. "Oh? How is that?" This was really getting interesting.

"He's… well… honest—and innocent in a lot of ways. He was sneaky in this instance, yes. Not typical of him, but I have to admire his spunk. Going for what he wanted. And I know he did still kiss you after he knew about you and me. But still… if it were to be anyone at all, and I had to pick for you, if it couldn't me be, I would pick Peter."

This sounded so lame to Mike's ears. So nonsensical. But he was speaking from the heart, and he hoped Leslie would somehow understand this thing he couldn't articulate.

She was silent, and he saw her mind churning, going over his words. They had hit her hard. Michael was being so real with her, and it touched her deeply.

She began carefully. "What I'm getting is you care a lot for Peter. And you think a lot of his character. And you respect him. I've seen it in your manner. Both yours and Peter's. You care so much, you're willing to forgive him." Leslie wanted to let Mike know that she was trying to understand. In fact, she was trying so hard that it hurt. Michael nodded wordlessly.

If only Leslie knew the _whole _story, and even though he trusted Leslie not to say anything to Peter, he was afraid it would be too much for her to handle. Hell, it was too much for _him_!

He realized then that he hadn't hugged Leslie. "Touch me," he said in that low, growly tone. Leslie was right on it. She'd more than missed his touch, she'd ached for it. She did his bidding. Soon after came the "Hug me" part, and that was when he stood and pulled her to her feet, and she felt the powerful sexual urges sweeping through her like a sudden tropical storm, his arms enfolding her. He wanted that full body contact. He didn't hold back as he had that day when Peter had been there. He pulled her strongly, closely against him, his sigh telling her just how charged he was.

"Are you tired?" she asked.

"No… no… never too tired to hold you."

His erection was strong and rigid. She felt it easily through her thin nightgown. Her wetness was almost instantaneous. She looked up at him and he kissed her gently at first, then he became almost demanding. She wondered if the competition with Peter could be giving him this extra drive. She'd read somewhere about it happening in the animal kingdom. His harsh breathing, the frantic undertone that he was trying hard to subdue, but getting nowhere, aroused Leslie to the point to where she practically wanted to rip his clothes off.

Her nightgown was no hindrance—he simply lifted it over her head. She had nothing on underneath. His clothes, however, were a different story. The shoes, socks, band pants, underwear, belt, and band shirt with all the buttons seemed to take an eternity. The wool hat went flying across the room and Michael laughed quietly as it hit the wall. Finally naked, they retired to her bedroom and slipped under the sheets. It was going to be an Indian summer—it was still quite warm so there was no need for blankets.

"I can see through that nightgown," said Michael. "You've been keeping your drapes pulled, so that takes care of the peeping tom…but what about Peter?"

Why was he bringing up Peter when they were naked in bed together? Befuddled, she mentioned that she'd forgotten how sheer a few of her gowns were.

"So you would have let him in… dressed like that?" If Michael weren't already hard as a rock, the thought of that would have done it. For some reason the thought of Peter seeing Leslie's body through her nightgown really fired Michael up. At once it horrified him, and no way was he going to breathe a word of it to Leslie.

Leslie thought it strange he didn't have a negative tone to his voice when he mentioned her state of dress, and Peter possibly seeing. In fact, his voice had a breathless quality to it that she hadn't heard before.

"I guess so… well, I hoped I would have realized it and grabbed a robe."

"Not before he saw you, though…"

Leslie studied his face, and there was a bit of a beastly quality to it. His eyes were a bit too bright.

She experimented for a moment. "And the competiveness would have excited you?"

Michael hesitated for a long moment. Yep, it looked like she'd caught him. In his mind's eye, he could almost see Peter ogling her—then looking away, trying to be polite. And then looking back again because he couldn't stop himself. Yes… yes, it excited him alright. But how could he describe it to the woman he cared so much for? In a way she would understand?

"A man… feels proud when other men look at his woman. Knowing they find her attractive too…" well, that hadn't _exactly_ been his thoughts, but close enough. She didn't turn off the way he feared she might. Instead, she cuddled up to him. "Nothing wrong with that," she said softly as she reached down…

Michael gasped when her hand found and closed around his enormously rigid cock.

"What's the matter?" she smiled softly into his brown eyes.

"Ah…it's just that… I wouldn't have expected you to be so… bold."

"You've earned my trust."

Those words aroused him too. So did her actions. Everything was arousing him tonight. The fact that she'd taken control and touched him first made him feel incredibly wanted. She trusted him at last!

At the Pad, Peter was trying hard not to feel depressed tonight. When they'd gotten home from the gig, Michael had said he was going for a walk on the beach. Everyone knew where he was _really_ going, and no one was more aware of it than Peter. But for all Micky and Davy knew, Leslie was Michael's girl. They had no idea how close Peter was to her, as well.

"Man, I wish I had a chick like that!" Micky was practically drooling after Mike had left.

"Yeah, she's outasite alright," said Davy. "A stone fox."

Peter couldn't stand to hear them talk about Leslie. He thought about walking on the beach, but didn't trust himself not to end up drifting in the direction of her house. He might see something again, and although it was erotic, he wanted it to be _him _she was making love to.

Leslie began to stroke him. Long, firm, yet gentle strokes. Michael's breathing quickened ever more, and his hand went to her breast, rolling the nipple between forefinger and thumb, his hips undulating a bit. The kiss they shared was red hot. Leslie's other hand was on his chest, running her fingers through the hair. He thought he'd give it a try again…

"Come here… you said I've earned your trust. Do you want to… get on top?" he asked.

She only paused for a second, then crawled on top of him, glad the light was very dim, as she felt self- conscious. At first she laid flat on him, but he encouraged her to sit up while he sat up himself-enough to suck her breasts. He knew how quickly she became aroused from that. He tilted her backward a bit to make it easier to tongue and lave her nipples. He spent a long time at it, indulging himself with the way they became rock hard—kind of like his cock, but on a much smaller scale.

He could feel her wetness down there, on his skin, and knew she must have been ready since they'd been in the living room. From the hug. Just a hug had done it. _Don't think about hugs right now!_ He reminded himself harshly. Just hugs between myself and Leslie.

She was building slowly toward orgasm when he gently lifted her and placed her in line with his cock. Very gradually, he worked his way in, ever aware of his girth and length. Within a minute, he was sheathed completely inside.

"You can move if you want…. Or I can if that makes you more comfortable."

She tried moving, and he could tell she hadn't done this on very many occasions. Once she picked up a rhythm, things turned around rapidly. They both began breathing loudly, and he felt her fluids coating his scrotum. He watched her breasts bounce as his hands on her hips guided her up and down in time with his rocking hips.

Her eyes were closed, and she looked to be in ecstasy. She leaned forward and braced her hands on his shoulders and rode him harder.

"Oh my God, that's good," he said, lifting his hips in time to her movements. They moved faster together until Michael felt he was close to his climax. At that point, he lifted her off himself. She had an inquiring look in her eyes. "You said you trust me now, didn't you?" he asked.

"Yes, Michael."

"I'll be very gentle… would you like me from behind?"

Leslie paused, thinking of his size, and wondering how much it was going to hurt. But at the same time she trusted him to stop if she asked him to.

"If you don't want to…"

"Of course I do, Michael. I'm just unsure how to do it."

Amazed at how bland and unimaginative her past love life had been, thanks to selfish men who only wanted what _they _wanted, and to hell with her satisfaction, he gently guided her to the edge of the bed, instructing her to get on her hands and knees so he could enter her from behind, as he stood at the edge of the bed. Just as she was at the height of her embarrassment, and ready to tell him she couldn't go through with it, he oh-so-tenderly entered her. Michael was extra careful not to go too deep or to thrust too eagerly, as he was well aware of the pain his large cock could cause a woman who was as tight as she was.

Almost immediately Leslie found herself loving it. She knew if he went too deep, as he did a few times, it would hurt, but she merely signaled him by moving her body forward a bit. The soothing in and out rhythm soon became something she never wanted to be without again. Maybe not every lovemaking session, but she'd love to have it often. Things got more heated until Michael was thrusting quickly, and the sound of their moist flesh slapping together audibly was doing thrilling things to her libido. It skyrocketed, and when Michael reached down and rubbed her clit with the fingers of one hand, she just about went through the ceiling.

He kept it up, in time with his thrusts, and she felt herself building to orgasm. He knew just what kind of touch she preferred, just how much pressure to apply. And they'd only made love a few times! He was a master, she decided. The lovemaking wizard.

Michael looked down and watched himself sliding in and out of her in the dim light. It was beautiful, and so erotic. She'd had two orgasms by the time he just couldn't hold himself back any longer. He growled and clung to her, spurt after spurt filling her up. She felt him throbbing inside. She clenched her inner muscles to help him enjoy it as much as possible. It caused his moan to increase a bit in volume. _He was getting there,_ she thought. Once he completely let go of that damn hold he had on himself, he'd be a fantastic lover. Not that he wasn't now—but a little unbridled wildness would be the final touch.

Afterward they lay side by side, letting the air dry the sweat on their bodies.

"I can't believe how fast I've gotten to trust you," she said in wonder.

"I can't either. It's been months, but still… I thought it might be closer to a year before anything like… this happened."

"Did you?"

"Yes. And I was willing to wait. Those guys in your past almost ruined your ability… to feel passion. Luckily you gave me a chance."

"I'm glad it was you, Michael…" she turned and stared into his eyes to try to communicate to him how serious she was. He'd made a huge difference in her life already. "I had no idea how much pleasure this…could bring me. I'm just overwhelmed. I had the old fashioned thought that a woman just had to endure… that part of marriage." She couldn't bring herself to say the word sex, for some reason, and at her age, it seemed so silly. "Is it supposed to be this… good?"

Michael smiled. He might not be able to see it, but he could hear the blush in her voice. "Yes, Leslie. I imagine it's supposed to be this good. But I have to admit… I've never had it this good before either."

"I know what women have done to you as well…and I never would have dreamed of… hurting you intentionally."

"Please believe me when I say that I believe you."

"But what happened with Peter…well, that isn't like me at all. I'm sorry. Really, I've never done that before. Been serious about someone and then… gone behind their back. I'll quote something you said before, 'If it had been anyone other than Peter…'' The sentence didn't need finishing.

Michael nodded, grasping what she meant. "Peter seems to have that effect on people… if they take the time to get past his shyness and get to know the real him. The other three of us realized how special he is pretty early on. Once he opens up and relaxes, he's great to be around. He's funny, positive, and he's the real deal. He does, however, get on my nerves when… he's sickeningly cheerful first thing in the morning. That's when I wanna kill him."

Leslie laughed. She felt so soothed inside to hear Michael speaking so affectionately of his friend.

"Not to get off the subject, but one thing I've been wondering about… you haven't mentioned anything about protection against… pregnancy," she said a bit bashfully. She couldn't help it—she had to bring it up because it bothered her.

He smiled in the near darkness. "I cheated. I saw your pills over there," he indicated her dresser with the package of birth control pills on top of one of the books she was reading. "So I didn't have to mention it. I was prepared anyway. I had something with me… just in case. I'm not irresponsible that way."

Leslie sighed in relief. For a moment there, she was wondering if it were possible it just hadn't entered his mind, as had happened with other guys. She had always been the one to have to bring the subject up, and do something about it.

"Don't answer if I'm being too nosy… but, how long have you been on them?" Michael braced himself for an angry retort.

"I understand what you're… getting at. No, I hadn't been seeing anyone else. I told you the truth about that. And I didn't plan on being with you quite as soon as we were, but I wasn't going to take any chances either. So I went to the doctor and got a prescription."

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't wait a year, like I was thinking might happen, because then your prescription might have expired."

"I like to move slow in relationships now, Michael. I've learned a lot from my past."

"I second that. I've learned a hell of a lot too," he agreed. "Maybe not the same things, but I'd been working on learning to protect my heart. It's been a work in progress."

"I hope I didn't mess that up. I feel just the same about you as I did before…"

"before the kiss…" he finished the thought for her. She nodded.

"But…" he said, sitting up against the headboard. "I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you…I need to get away," he said this so abruptly that Leslie sat straight up as well, staring at him in confusion. What a thing to say to her right after making love!

"Get away? What do you mean? Where?"

"Texas, to see my mother. Not _just_ to see my mother, but this thing with Peter…"

"Okay, Michael. You're scaring me. It's upsetting you more than you let on. You haven't… indicated before that you were terribly upset. In fact… you seemed a bit accepting. Or were you just acting that way for my benefit?"

"No… it's not what you think. It's nothing bad. There are other things I'm dealing with too… things that will have to wait until later… for me to tell you." He was referring, of course, to _himself _and Peter, but he wasn't ready to bring that out in the open yet. It was only right for him to talk to Peter first. But for right now, he felt a few days away would give Leslie and Peter a chance to decide if they did, indeed, want a relationship, and it would also give Michael a chance to sort out his thoughts. A trip home was long overdue anyway; he hated leaving Leslie and Peter alone together because it scared him. Peter was so damn charming. But at the same time, he knew in his heart that Leslie needed to get to know Peter as well as she knew him—it was the only way she'd be in a position to choose. It was only fair to her—he couldn't keep her under lock and key. He wouldn't _want _that. And maybe he'd reach some kind of epiphany about himself and Peter, if he were lucky. The time away might clear his mind enough to get this whole thing into perspective. But first, he needed to make it up to Leslie for leaving the door open, Breezy getting hit, and the resulting vet bill. Yep, he was going to put up a fence.

Peter smiled at the note inside the envelope with his check. This was becoming a running joke. He pondered on where he'd put the check next. Maybe under her pillow? Yeah—that would be perfect. But then he remembered he had no business being in her bedroom. It depressed him, much as he tried to vanquish the thought. Right about then was when Michael came home.

It was really late, but Michael wanted to talk to Peter about the fence. "Do you think Leslie's landlord would allow a fence to be put up so Breezy would have a yard?" he asked Peter.

Peter's eyes lit up. "I don't see why not—as long as it's a nice looking fence. And… that's a really good idea, Michael!"

"Yeah, I thought maybe I could at least partially pay her back for Breezy's vet bill that way."

"I'll help you, of course. We could get it done in no time!" Peter's mood was suddenly bright again.

"What's that?" Mike eyed the check and envelope in Peter's hand.

"Leslie sent the check back to me… again. I just now opened the mail. I was wondering where I could put it the next time."

Mike chuckled when Peter showed him the note about her shoving the check down Peter's throat.

"Well, she wasn't exactly subtle, was she? Let's drag the other guys out of bed early one day next week, and get practice out of the way, and go to the lumber yard, and get that fence put up," said Michael.

"But first… we have to find out if her landlord will allow it," said Peter.

"No worries. If he objects, and I really doubt he will, we can just tear it back down again. Some of the other houses have fences, and it'll look good."

"Good enough! I'm in!"

"Oh, and another thing, Pete. Sometime soon I'm going to go home to visit," Mike tried to sound as casual as he could.

"Oh… yeah, it's been a while."

"Yeah, and this will be good for Leslie… and you. She really should spend more time with you so she'll know you as well as she knows me."

"Why do you say that? I've known her almost as long as you have." Right after Peter said this, his gut tightened. He mulled it over briefly, not sure if he knew what Michael was _really_ getting at. Michael and Leslie had made love—he and Leslie _hadn't._ Is that what Michael had meant by "getting to know each other better?" It had to be—simply because Peter and Leslie had spent hours and hours talking, discussing everything under the sun, going to the park… things like that. The only thing they hadn't done that was of importance was to be intimate. Peter didn't dare ask Mike if that had been the meat of his cryptic statement, so he remained silent.

"Whatever happens when I'm gone, Peter. _Whatever_ it is, well… I won't be angry with you.  
If nothing happens other than the friendship you've shared, fine. Nothing should ever be forced anyway. But if something_ should_ happen, I do understand you have to, and she has to… find out if she wants to date you… or… maybe a little more involved, if you catch my drift."

_Wow,_ Peter's head was spinning now. It was clear to him, at last, that Michael didn't mean he and Leslie should necessarily just share some more kisses. What he didn't understand was how Michael could be sleeping with her, and yet still giving her… and Peter… permission to get closer. That seemed to be against everything human. Humans were jealous creatures—unlike animals. Humans could end up killing each other as a result of blind jealousy. Did Michael realize what he was saying?

"But…but…. What about you, Michael? Don't you want her anymore?" even as he said it, he knew it didn't sound right, because he knew that wasn't true, but he couldn't find the words…

"Of course I still want her, Shotgun. I'm just thinking of her best interests. I can't decide for her, she's a grown woman who obviously has feelings for you. She has to be free to do what is best for her. I'm just trying to give her that opportunity. It's not fair for me to forbid her to see you. Those feelings of hers wouldn't magically go away even if I did. We both know that," and he met Peter's eyes with conviction.

His words were wise, but unlike anything Peter had ever heard a man say about a woman he cared for. That was a whole lot of maturity speaking there. And a whole lot of caring. Peter felt his eyes start to well up a bit.

Mike and Peter arrived around noon, after having called Leslie to see if she minded them coming over. She wondered why both were coming, but figured they might be wanting to sing songs to her again. She'd been to another gig, and was even thinking of inviting Mrs. Marston and Veronica to one soon. She had a feeling they would love it.

She didn't expect, however, when she looked out her window to see the two men she cared most about in the world carrying nice white picket fence pieces under their arms and depositing them at the front of her house—the side facing the ocean, then going back in the direction of the parking lot, and coming back again with more. One more trip, and they had it all piled neatly.

"What is this?" she asked, completely baffled.

"It's your new fence," announced Michael. "For Breezy. So she won't ever run the risk of having another accident. Also, she can go outside on her own if she wants—have her own yard."

Leslie was beside herself, and the guys smiled when she hopped up and down with unrestrained glee. She helped as much as she could, be there were only little things she could do, like hand Mike and Peter nails. By the time darkness rolled around, the fence was almost completed. It wasn't a huge yard, but big enough for Breezy to be able to run for a short distance, and Leslie could even throw a ball for her.

"Will she jump this?" Peter looked worried as he rubbed at his five o'clock shadow.

"I don't think so. I've never seen her even try to jump. Good way to test her though, would be for all of us to go out onto the beach and leave her inside the fence," said Leslie.

"Perfect! Come on, let's try it out," said Michael. They left Breezy in the yard and went down to the edge of the water. Breezy watched them intently, but didn't whine or bark. Then she began to pace the fence, then to run the fence. But she never even went up on her hind legs to rest her paws on the fence. After about fifteen minutes, she laid down to rest, yet continuing to intently watch her beloved companions. They stayed out another half hour until they were all convinced Breezy would stay in.

The time was here—Michael would be leaving for Texas tomorrow morning, very early. He was going to drive instead of fly, deciding that he could use the extra time alone to think. He wanted to be at his mom's by tomorrow night, so he was saying his goodbyes to everyone tonight. It was late Saturday night, and they'd gotten home only an hour ago. They'd dropped Leslie off at her place after the gig, and Peter hated having to endure them kissing on her porch before she went in as they waited for Mike in the Monkeemobile. He looked away, but the image of her kissing Michael wouldn't leave him. Micky and Davy stared as if they'd never seen anyone kiss before.

"You guys are sick," said Peter sullenly.

Michael had decided not to go into Leslie's house, as he knew he'd want to make love to her, and he had to leave early in the morning—it was only 4 hours away. Besides, Leslie had insisted he go home and try to get a little bit of sleep. He figured if he got to Dallas Sunday night, he'd be able to visit his mom for three days, and head back Thursday morning, arriving home fairly late. Then he'd be able to kick back all day Friday, before the gig that night.

They were back at the Pad, and Micky and Davy had already hit the sack a little while ago, after saying their goodbyes to Michael. Peter and Mike had been sitting in the living room, talking for a short while. Michael was trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing by going at the same time he was trying to reassure Peter that he should just let things evolve naturally.

"I don't think anything will happen, Michael, "Peter said in a small voice, halfway wishing Michael wouldn't go.

"Doesn't matter. I know you won't go over to see Leslie if I'm here. I _know_ you, Peter. If I'm not around, at least you won't have to worry about me… being around." It didn't make sense, but Peter got his meaning. Mike had meant they wouldn't have to worry about getting caught.

_It was now or never_. Michael couldn't wait any longer. What he needed right now, before he went to bed himself, was to see if Peter's feelings for him had been an illusion. He couldn't leave before he knew. He had to test himself and yes, Peter. It had been weighing heavily on him for a couple of weeks, and he suddenly realized he had to know tonight, since he'd be getting up and leaving way before anyone else stirred.

"Pete…" he started out, aware of his innards quivering. "There's something… we need to… discuss. Peter's look was so innocent that Michael could have sworn he'd never had a single impure thought in his life. Hell, Michael couldn't talk to Peter about the subject in question with that naïve look on his face. He just couldn't do it. He realized then with a jolt that if he didn't talk to Peter, the only way he'd get an answer was when they hugged goodbye…

"Oh, never mind," Mike said. "It was just more about Leslie, but I think we've covered it all already." Okay, so it was an untruth, but it was the only way out.

Michael stood up and stretched, trying to conceal the way he was shaking inside. "Well, guess I'd better hit the sack and try to get at least a_ few_ hours' sleep. Six is gonna come early."

"Yeah… so I guess this is goodbye. At least for the next five days," Peter smiled and the corners of his mouth trembled. _Oh God,_ I hope he's not gonna start crying on me, thought Mike. "I can get up to see you off," offered Peter weakly.

"Come on, Pete. You know that's ludicrous. I'll barely have time to shower, grab a bowl of cereal, and rush out the door."

"Yeah…okay then." And then Peter stepped forward to hug him…


	18. Chapter 18

Time seemed to stand still as Michael, as if in a trance, watched Peter as he crept slowly toward him, stalking him. At least that was how it seemed. It was eerie. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. Mike's feet felt like they were buried in cement. He couldn't move backward, and he couldn't move forward. He could only stand there and wait...and he felt the electricity way before Peter even touched him. The sparks, the heat, were enough to singe the hair off his arms. He realized he was in a heap of shit.

Mike shook his head slightly, attempting to clear it, but all he could see was fog. A fog with Peter in the middle of it, getting closer and closer. When Peter had finally closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around him, Mike shuddered, long and hard. He hadn't meant to do it, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered how Peter might interpret it. Shudders could be either very good or very bad…

Mike wished for a miracle to discourage Peter, because at this point, he'd forgotten how to think, in fact he didn't even know where in hell his head was. It seemed to be in a murky, swirling pool of… what? Lust? He almost felt as if he were outside his own body, floating. He had no control, as if in a dream. Numb and impotent. Well no… not impotent, judging from the way he was throbbing. That thought was almost so funny that he could laugh at it, but right now there was no place for laughter. He felt helpless to fight Peter off. His body, with a mind of its own, actually leaning into Peter's, begging, in the midst of half-hearted denial, for more.

Peter's body was enveloping him now, desire raging hot along the length of their bodies. Michael's arms encircled Peter—he couldn't seem to check himself. It felt so right that fending Peter off would feel almost sacrilegious. He felt himself loosening, like a cooked noodle—that was how much backbone he had… absolutely none. Perfect for molding into Peter's body. He was spellbound. In this moment, Peter could do anything he wanted with him, and his love for Peter ran oceans deep. Like the whitecaps out there…

What kind of love? Mike wasn't sure, but it was something that gripped at his stomach, his heart, his whole being. Its strength was almost too much for him to bear. Like the times he'd gotten caught in a huge wave and there was nothing he could do but be thrown about and hope he'd be able to catch his breath again sometime soon. His lips found the base of Peter's neck, so, in reality, he'd technically made the first move. All Peter had done was to begin giving him a goodbye hug. This was more out of control than Mike had ever envisioned it would be. And if he'd known it would be this profound, he would have said goodbye like he'd done with the others-shook Peter's hand, patted him on the back in a half-hug and retired in a flash to his bedroom before Peter could even go in for the hug. But it was too late now.

Michael had hugged his share of men in his lifetime… but this was far beyond any masculine show of affection he'd experienced or witnessed before. If he'd had second thoughts, which he guessed he didn't, as all desire to pull back was now gone, he really questioned whether he would have been able to work Peter's iron grip loose anyhow.

Peter responded as naturally as if they were a man and woman embracing when he felt Mike's lips pressing against his neck. He sighed loudly, and did the same to Mike, and this is the way they remained. Suspended in time, and Mike realized nothing was going to break this spell—no one except himself or Peter. And fat chance of that happening, as both were a little bit out of their minds, a little bit frantic.

Neither knew what would happen in the next few minutes, but for now, all they needed, all they desired, was to continue holding each other.

Next thing Mike felt was Peter kissing his neck, and instinct told him to back out of Peter's grasp, but he felt shackled, and worse, his body betrayed him. His cock was pulsing and surging. Peter's lips were creating a masterpiece of magic on the sensitive skin of his neck. Mike's hand raised and came to rest on the back of Peter's silky hair, and he nestled his hand up and under, so he could stroke the back of Peter's neck.

That was when he felt Peter's tongue… on his neck. Peter was licking his neck…_oh my God._ Little tiny licks. The tingles, the shots of hard core desire were doing Mike in. Michael couldn't stifle his quick pants. After Mike's neck was sufficiently licked, and Peter had him practically squirming from the unrelenting sexual arousal, Peter began another attack. This time it was kissing the moist skin he'd just licked with a partially open mouth. Michael couldn't even begin to analyze the feelings it evoked in him. Peter's erection and his were nearly touching through the thin fabric of their band pants. Mike allowed his pelvis to tilt forward just the slightest bit. With miniscule, hopefully undetected movements, he aligned them, then felt the hard throbbing in both of them. He swore he could feel both their heartbeats melded into one.

Peter wasn't fooled for a moment. He'd felt Michael adjusting his body against his, so he began kissing Michael's neck a little more obviously, and then to suck… it was too much for Michael. Mike's body wavered and collapsed. He sunk to the couch, not able to stand up any longer. Peter followed him down, and they ended up still entwined in the same hug that hadn't yet been broken.

There was a loaded silence, but neither man felt the need to break it. Peter had stopped sucking Mike's neck, afraid Mike would start freaking out, and the moment would go astray, never to be recovered, but now his hands were rubbing Michael's back down low—_how did he know where Mike's weak spots were?_ The hands seemed to whisper a message—_come closer, come closer._ The subtle pressing in the small of his back drove Mike to almost to the brink.

Michael used all the willpower he had in him, and sprung back up from the couch. If he hadn't, God knows what might have happened. They might have kissed… in fact, Michael had felt a strong urge to do just that. This had gone far enough… in fact, way _too _far.

"Okay, buddy. Time for me to turn in… see you in five days," and he bolted to his room. He knew his face was flushed, he knew he was trembling, and he knew Peter saw it all—because he saw it all in Peter's face.

Entering his room, he closed the door, and practically stumbled to his bed, as if he were drunk. Micky, of course, was fast asleep. Mike's heart drummed a tattoo so loud that it was all Mike could hear.

_Peter had known!_

He'd known all along! How could he have? It occurred to Mike that Peter might have been testing him when he'd licked his neck that first time. It seemed eons ago now. Somehow, he'd sensed that it had turned Mike on. And after all this time, he'd remembered it. That was being pretty damn observant. People are only that observant when something is important to them. Mike's hand dove under the covers, and he stroked himself furiously. He needed release badly. When he climaxed, being careful not to moan, it was nothing close to the relief he'd hoped it would bring.

Six o'clock sharp and Michael still wasn't out of the Pad. He'd showered and now was sitting at the table, wolfing down some cereal and orange juice. Actually, it was half tomato juice and half orange juice, since they'd only had about a quarter cup of each left. It tasted gross, but it did the job of washing the cereal down. Mike was having trouble swallowing, his mouth and throat being so dry—the lump of cereal caught there making it even worse. He knew why too. It was nerves. Just a couple more minutes, and he'd be out the door. But he didn't quite make it…

He heard footsteps on the stairs and his heart dropped. Yep, he knew Peter well by now, and he would have been very lucky to make it out the door without Peter appearing.

"Mornin' Michael." How Peter could act so casual and natural was astonishing.

"I thought I told you… not to get up," Michael couldn't look Peter in the eye. Acute embarrassment caused surges of heat to waft through him.

"Just wanted to be sure you got off alright," said Peter as he shoved a piece of bread into the toaster. Mike knew the bread was for him—Peter was never hungry right after getting up.

"Don't bother with that… I don't have time. I should already be on the road."

Peter ignored him, and when Mike was almost done with his cereal, Peter put the buttered piece of toast, browned just the way Mike liked it, next to Mike's cereal bowl.

"Thanks, man." Mike took a bite out of the toast.

"We should talk," Peter sat down opposite of Michael. Oh shit… Michael was _so _hoping Peter wouldn't say those words! But Peter, with his inborn temperament being what it was, wouldn't be put off. Peter was not happy with any kind of tension or resentments within their little "family" of four. There had to be harmony amongst them all or he was not at peace. He could be wickedly determined and pursue you like a rabbit until you caved and allowed him to hold a discussion to clear things up. And that was what he was attempting to do right now.

But the very last thing Michael wanted to do was talk about it. It was bad enough that it had happened in the first place, but to _talk _about it? Peter should have been a therapist—it was surely his calling.

"Fuck, Pete. I'm already late. What can't wait until I get back?" Mike gulped. He knew he shouldn't have said that. Peter wouldn't mince words—he'd get right to the point.

"About what happened last night."

Yep, that's exactly what Mike knew he was going to say. He really _did _know Peter like a book.

"I don't wanna talk about it, Pete. That's partly why I'm getting away… because of that."

"But you planned to go _before _last night!" Peter protested. Oh boy… Mike was just digging the hole deeper every time he opened his mouth.

"Because of the hug _before _the one _last night!"_ Mike's voice was rising—he was feeling exasperated. Why did Peter always have to have such a precise answer about everything?

"So you felt it too…" It could have been an overactive imagination on his part, but Mike thought Peter had a somewhat satisfied look on his face, as if he had made a bet with himself that Mike had been affected by the hug as well.

"Peter, I've gotta go. Tell the other guys bye again for me, and take care," Mike's voice almost cracked with unexpected emotion that had struck out of the blue. He choked back the feeling and added, "And _please_ take care of Leslie. Watch over her for me."

"You sound as if you're gonna die or something!" Peter looked horrified.

"I'm not… I'm just… worried about Leslie. Like I said before, spend as much time as you can with her. Please don't forget about that peeping tom either." That was all the farther Mike was going to go. He wanted to ask Peter to stay with Leslie at night, to be sure she'd be protected, but hell… she had been sleeping alone in that house every night, up until now, so how was this different? _Because he'd be about 900 miles away, that's how._

"I'll take care of her, Michael." Mike knew Peter's word was as good as it gets.

"Okay, later, Shotgun," and Mike was out the door. He was driving their older car that they'd just lately been able to afford to buy. It was in good condition, and reliable. That way the others would have the Monkeemobile to use in his absence. He saw Peter's head sticking out of the door of the Pad, watching him get into the car. Michael pretended he didn't see him, and sped out of there, hoping last night would somehow turn out to be just a disturbing dream.

Mike passed Leslie's house on his way to the driveway that would lead him to the freeway, and saw Breezy out in her yard. That meant Leslie was up. He slowed the car, still in the parking lot. He saw Leslie then, looking over the fence at him. She immediately exited her gate and ran toward him.

He was so glad to see her that he nearly forgot to keep his foot on the brake, so he shoved it into park.

"I was watching for you, since you said you'd be leaving at six," she said as she reached the passenger window.

"Yeah, I was a little late in getting started. Get in," said Michael.

She didn't hesitate. Once she was in the passenger seat, he kissed her long and hard. A quiet desperation in his manner told her he was, in a way, dreading having to leave his home. And maybe dreading leaving her too. Leslie was delighted at his response to her being here. She had been afraid he might think she was a little weird, getting up so early just to watch for him.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"You told me you were taking the other car, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, I did." His memory was still foggy because of the incident with Peter.

"Oh Michael, I'll miss you so much," she said. "Even though we've gone five days without seeing each other before. It's just the fact that… that we're closer now, and you'll be so far away."

"I know. But I reminded Peter to keep a close watch on you—to protect you. And I'll be back in the blinking of an eye," he tried to sound cheerful so he wouldn't start to cry like she was starting to do right now.

Another very deep kiss, and Michael's hand came up and softly caressed her breast. He'd never done that before outside of her home. It was a huge thrill for her. So intimate, yet so loving. And a little daring.

He hadn't meant to upset Michael, but for some reason, he also hadn't been able to control himself. Peter was baffled by all this. He felt strongly for Leslie, but now… Michael was making him feel strongly for him, as well. He couldn't keep sneaking in hugs, as he was only fooling himself. It wasn't fair to Leslie. She and Michael were involved. Well… he was involved with her as well, only not as seriously. He wondered what would happen when Michael was gone. Then he reminded himself that he was, in fact, already gone. Should he call Leslie today, or was it too soon?

Leslie knew Michael's trip was necessary. Both to see his mother, and to put distance between them—to get away and think, as he'd put it. This other issue he'd vaguely referred to made her uneasy. She hoped it wasn't something bad. They were just beginning, and she feared she was falling more for him all the time.

He'd thought about turning around at least twice in the first 100 miles. But he forced himself to keep driving—his mother was expecting him, and would be terribly disappointed. Leslie and Peter needed time alone too. He felt like sobbing his heart out, but only a few tears trickled down his cheeks unchecked. He wanted, needed Leslie, was afraid of losing her; and what he thought about Peter—well, that was the big mystery. He still had no idea what had happened between them, or _why._ He knew one thing… it wasn't normal. It wasn't as if they were kids experimenting. He could find no explanation for it, and it drove him up the wall.

With Michael gone, the others had decided to take the week off from practicing. Like a small vacation. They needed it—they'd been practicing and perfecting five to six days a week, in addition to gigs. Peter had been, and was still vacillating about calling Leslie tonight. Was the very day Mike left too soon for him to contact her? Would it make him look greedy for time with her? Would it give her the wrong impression?

As darkness came on, it was chilly, and Leslie realized fall was finally easing upon the beach. She always mourned the end of summer. It was like a goodbye she had to say every year. She wondered why she hadn't heard from Peter, but she was missing Michael so much that it overshadowed just about everything else.

She decided to walk on the beach with Breezy just to get out of the house. Besides, Breezy loved it so much. She'd thrown a sweater on. They were sitting there together in the sand, and Leslie looked up at the full, silver moon. She wondered if it were as lonely as she was without Michael.

"Look Breezy, it's a full moon!" she exclaimed happily. Breezy kept looking around as if she expected to see either Michael or Peter. "It's just us tonight, girl," said Leslie. "Hey, do you know how to howl at a full moon?" Breezy pricked her ears in interest. "Your ancestors are wolves, and they know how to. Want me to show you?"

Leslie then tilted her head up and softly howled, then looked at Breezy to see if there was any response. The dog definitely showed interest, and after a few more howls from Leslie, Breezy joined in. It was a very soft howl, like Leslie's, and it made Leslie giggle. Breezy knew she was a girl apparently, for if a howl could be feminine, hers was.

Leslie heard a soft chuckle from her right, and Breezy sprang into action, wagging her tail and straining at the leash to get to the sound.

"Peter! Bless your heart!" Leslie was a bit embarrassed being caught howling, and wondered if Peter thought she'd lost her mind. But she was still overcome with gladness to see him.

"Howling at the moon, huh?" he asked as he greeted Breezy with hugs and pats.

"Yes, we both enjoyed it. It's full, so we have a good excuse."

"Almost full. Actually tomorrow it'll be 100% full. It wasn't hard to find you with all that noise going on," Peter plopped down beside her.

"Oh, it wasn't _that _loud," Leslie protested as she softly brushed the hair from his eyes. She was happy to see him, especially now, with Michael gone. He was a lovely distraction, and a good friend.

"I've been wondering all day if I should call you. I didn't know how you felt, so I decided to walk out here and maybe swing by your house. Not come to the door, but check up and make sure everything looked secure."

"How sweet, Peter. And I'm glad you showed up on the beach."

"Are you missing Michael a lot?" She nodded.

"So am I."

"Well, then we can sit and talk, and miss him together!" she was trying to keep her voice light. She couldn't help feeling down, knowing Michael would be gone for the rest of the week. She unclipped Breezy's leash. Even though Breezy had not ventured far from Leslie on the beach since that night she'd gone into the parking lot, Leslie had affixed a bell to her collar so she'd be able to hear if Breezy were venturing too far away. Since then Leslie realized Breezy had probably gone to look for the Monkeemobile, or maybe her own car, hoping to go for a ride.

Leslie shivered in the cool breeze. Peter was there in a second, easing his arm around her.

"Cold? Is that better?" he asked as he rubbed up and down her opposite arm briskly.

"Yes… you're always so warm, Peter."

So there they sat, listening to the tinkling of Breezy's bell as she played on the beach, watching the waves, and talking. Mostly about Michael. What a subject to be talking about when they were supposed to be discussing their feelings for each other. But both were too wrapped up in missing him. Both were so very fond of him.

"Oh! Peter, we have to go in the house! Michael said he'd call when he got there safely!" Leslie started to get up, and was halfway to her feet.

"Yeah, he said he'd call us too. But he won't be there for another hour or two." It was seven now.

"We can go in now, or wait an hour—whatever you want," said Peter.

"Okay, let's wait an hour. It'll give Breezy more time out here. But I'm going to freeze."

"Not if I'm here," Peter didn't want to give her the impression he was trying to make a move, so he made it obvious when he held his arms wide that he was giving her the choice. He didn't just grab her. She could decide for herself if she wanted closeness. She sat back down and came right into his arms.

Peter knew he'd never have the nerve to hold her like this inside her house, much less kiss her, he was just fortunate the cold had given him a handy excuse. He remembered the first time, and how it had been a fluke, a lucky break for him. It had happened so naturally when they'd both bent over at the same time. The first kiss. She'd been so receptive too, and he'd felt so good about the other few kisses they'd shared… before she'd gotten into her car and driven away. That night, there hadn't been any doubt that she'd wanted his kisses, and he'd thought about it every day since. But they would never get that exact scenario back. Worse, he had never been the aggressive type. On top of that, he was feeling lonely already without Michael, and even though Mike had more or less given him complete permission, he felt guilt creeping all over him like a swarm of insects.

Still, having her in his arms like this for an hour would be straight up, bitchin' blissful. He really dug it—feeling her melt into him as if they were one body.

Peter wasn't coming on to her. She knew when a man was on the make. Peter was so low key and amenable in general that it was impossible to judge what he might be thinking. All he was doing was holding her against the cold. He emitted not even a hint of an attempt at seduction or persuasion—just warmth, inside and out. That made her respect him even more. And love him even more…

She felt it was too early to know if she felt romantic love for either Michael or Peter, but she _did _know she loved them for the loyal friends they were to her. She had been nervous about meeting Micky and Davy, as it seemed she must have a "thing" for Monkees! After all, she'd met two members, and was crazy about both of them. But she didn't have anything to fear. She had eyes and heart only for Michael and Peter. Micky and Davy were sweet, fun and charming, but Michael and Peter were the ones she had special feelings for.

As they sat there, holding each other, Leslie's head on Peter's chest, he knew the hour would go by much too quickly. He wanted very much to speak to Michael, but he also didn't want their little cuddling session to end. He rubbed her back, up and down, tucking her head under his chin, wanting to put his hands inside her sweater, in the back, just to be closer to her skin, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He was such a coward! Women were such odd creatures. You never knew what might upset them, make them angry, or make them cry. He didn't want to blow it.

When the hour was up, they went inside and listened to rock music on the radio, on Leslie's couch. The phone rang at 9:15. They were tremendously relieved, knowing Michael had made it there safe and sound. Mike was emotional—much more than he thought he'd be, but he held it together as he talked to Leslie. She cheered him up, asking after his mother, who was delighted to have her son with her after nine months. Leslie could hear her commenting excitedly now and then to Michael in the background, not able to contain herself.

Then he asked, "Is Peter around?" so casually, as if he expected him to be there.

"Yes, he's right here," and she handed the phone to Peter. Peter put on a good act, he thought proudly to himself. He didn't let on that things were tense between himself and Michael at all. When they said their goodbyes, Leslie's voice shook, and Peter's voice went about an octave lower and sounded rough.

"Well, I'm gonna go ahead and call the Pad now. Not that Mick and Davy are waiting on the edge of their seats for my call or anything…" Mike said.

"Oh yes, they are. You better believe it. Everyone feels a little lost when you're not around," said Peter. After hanging up the phone, there was a moment of silence as both Peter and Leslie reflected on what had been said. Nothing significant—it was the things that _weren't _said. How much they missed him already, how eager they were for his return. He'd said he'd call again in a couple of days, and Leslie told him she'd be sure to be home at the appointed time.

After the phone call, Peter was a nervous Nellie if Leslie ever saw one. He fidgeted, he picked at his clothes, he fumbled and almost spilled his iced tea when she handed it to him. His voice shook, and he didn't seem to be able to get comfortable—shifting his weight back and forth, and generally being very un-Peter-like. She knew why, of course, but she hoped time would calm him down. It didn't. As time passed, if anything, he got even more agitated. Should she just scoot over so they were touching as they sat on the couch? Some low level flirting, or maybe just some more cuddles? Or should she just encourage him to talk and loosen up? The talking had worked in the past, so she tried it again. But before long there wasn't a doubt left in her mind that he was basically terrified of doing or saying something wrong.

Peter's stomach was in knots. His hands hurt from wringing them, and he knew that Leslie knew. That was the worst part. He must look so…inexperienced with women. She must be wondering why he was acting like a petrified fourteen year old boy around his first potential girlfriend.

"I'm sorry things aren't going well tonight," was all Leslie could think of to say without mentioning Peter's sad state, or making things worse.

"Me too. I just can't seem to… relax."

"I know. Don't worry about it. Let's start all over again tomorrow, okay? I have an idea."

"What's that?" she had his curiosity now.

"Never mind. You'll see. You're welcome to sleep on the couch if you want. I know Michael was adamant about you keeping an eye on me. You can sleep with me too… if you want. I promise I won't bite."

Peter blushed furiously. "What I meant was…" she quickly amended, "you can sleep with your clothes on, or just on top of the bed with a blanket."

"The guys will wonder where I am if I don't come home," Peter was sorry the moment he said it. Now he really_ did _sound like a little kid. Having to check in? The guys would just go to bed, and then ask him where he'd been the next day. It wasn't as if they'd panic or anything. He was a grown man. But Leslie seemed to sense he was not comfortable even to be in the same house with her overnight. She smiled. He needed time…

"Okay, then, on home with you. I think I'll go to bed a bit early tonight anyway." She was trying to make him feel better—he knew that, and was so grateful for her sweet, understanding nature that he felt like crying.

They hugged goodnight, and even then, Peter was still scared shitless. All the way home, he chastised himself, kicking at the occasional rock and cursing under his breath. He knew there was no hurry, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was him and his damn nerves! Here Michael had traveled 900 miles away to give them privacy, and he couldn't even put his arm around her just because he wanted to—he had to have some damn excuse or he lost his courage! All the dreaming about being with her, the fantasies, the yearning, and then when he finally had the chance, he froze up!

Leslie went to the homeless shelter the next day. Veronica kept asking her why she hadn't brought Michael and Peter back. "Well, they practice hard almost every day, and besides that, Michael is gone right now, to see his mother in Texas," explained Leslie.

Mrs. Marston was listening closely, although pretending to be busy peeling an orange.

"I'll bring Peter one day this week though, if he wants to come. And I'm sure he will," she smiled at Veronica. Veronica, of course, had no inkling of what was going on, but her mother, on the other hand, was sharp as a tack and just as observant. She might not know the _whole_ story, but she suspected Leslie was seeing both guys. Romantically. The only part that mystified her was that the boys lived in the same house, and were friends and band mates. How could that be alright with them, for Leslie to be seeing them both? Did Michael think she and Peter were still just good friends? But she didn't ask. If Leslie wanted to tell her about it, she would… in her own good time.

Veronica and Breezy were playing fetch when Leslie noticed Mrs. Marston had a faraway look in her eye.

"We used to have a dog, Mr. Marston and I," she said suddenly.

"You did?"

"Yes… not a German Shepherd, but a Boxer. The sweetest dog… Breezy reminds me of her in some ways. When she died of old age, things were never quite the same again. We never got another dog."

Leslie took a big breath and asked, "What happened to Mr. Marston?"

"Oh, he left… for another woman."

Leslie was shocked into silence. "I'm so sorry," she finally managed.

"That's how we ended up here—in the shelter. No job I could find paid enough for me to be able to pay rent. You see, I didn't graduate high school so the jobs were always minimum wage, and never full time. Veronica and I finally found this place… or rather heard about it from people… after crashing on people's couches, stuff like that, for months. We've been here ever since, and that's been fifteen years."

"Fifteen years?" I had no idea you'd been here that long."

"Yes. They let me work here part time, so at least I have a little spending money. And I do lots of work to earn my keep, so I don't feel quite so bad about it."

Leslie wondered why Veronica wasn't working, but figured she'd already been nosy enough.

As if in answer, Mrs. Marston said, "Veronica has a learning disability. She can't remember what she's supposed to do when she gets a job. She's had several, but they just don't last because of that. So she does some simple things around here."

Leslie nodded. So now she knew the story. "So… at least I feel a bit useful around here, doing odd jobs, cooking, weeding, things like that. So I'm grateful for what we _do_ have—a roof over our heads, nice people, and friends like you."

Leslie thought about how fortunate she was. She had a nice beach rental, could do more or less as she pleased, she had a car, and she didn't even have to work.

"I'd love you and Veronica to come visit me sometime. We could spend a day on the beach, or whatever you and Veronica want to do. I'm also going to ask Michael about having you guys to a gig."

Mrs. Marston's eyes fairly gleamed. "That would be very nice, but we don't want to put you to any trouble," she said.

"What trouble? A day on the beach with a picnic basket of goodies, and an evening listening to rock 'n roll? What trouble is that? Oh… you do like rock 'n roll, don't you?"

"I told you before, girl. I'm a modern woman, and I'm not _that_ old yet, you know. In my heart I'm still in my 20s. From what I've heard of rock 'n roll on the radio and television, yes… I like it. It has such a lively beat. And Veronica and I would get to watch Michael and Peter sing."

"Then it's all set. I'll ask Michael as soon as he gets home. But I'm sure he'll love to have you guys."

The day ended with a very happy Mrs. Marston and Veronica waving her off, looking forward to their day on the beach in the near future. Leslie felt she could at least share that with them, when they had so little, compared to herself. She'd have to make it a regular thing, in fact.

Leslie's mouth turned up into a big smile later that afternoon when she lifted the bottles of vodka and kahlua and a pint of cream from the grocery bag and set them on the counter. She felt wicked, devilish. She'd been wracking her brains, trying to figure out what kind of alcoholic drink Peter might like. She had no idea, as she'd never even seen him drink. He had to be familiar with alcohol. A guy who lives with three other guys and plays at clubs has been well exposed to it, of course, but she didn't know what type he preferred. The guys never drank while performing a gig. On their breaks when she'd been there, they always had either water or a soft drink. Was Peter a beer guy? A wine guy? A hard liquor guy? She couldn't ask Micky and Davy, for obvious reasons. So she was on her own.

Then a light had gone on in her head, and she'd thought of White Russian cocktails. She'd once had some at a party and loved them. They were a lot like a milkshake—something she was almost certain Peter would like, as he liked ice cream so much. They not only looked like a milkshake, but the kahlua gave them that alluring coffee flavor—almost like mocha ice cream. Peter… she wondered just how much of a blank slate he really was. Just the thought of what she was going to do felt playfully malicious. She felt just a smidge guilty—but only a smidge. In any case, she was hoping the White Russians—just the right amount, of course, would do the trick.

Damn it, here it was Monday afternoon already, and Mike was due back Thursday night. You didn't have to tell Peter those three remaining days were going to go by in a flash. And Leslie had asked him over tonight. What was the point? He was just going to be the same stammering idiot he'd been last night. Clumsy, inept, and without a clue about how to romance a woman. He was sure Michael had already taken her somewhere nice, like a fancy restaurant, and had breezed through it without a single hitch. Michael knew how to handle just about any situation. He was always in command of his surroundings, self-confident, sophisticated, seemed to naturally know the right thing to do.

Peter was a casual guy, and wasn't used to wining and dining a woman, although he'd love to do that. He'd just never learned. He was sure he would mess up somehow if he were to take her to a nice place. That is, if he didn't trip on a rug or knock over a waiter before he even got to a table. He was determined to take Leslie out one night this week. He didn't know where yet, and asking Davy or Micky would get him nowhere, because they'd try to poke their noses into it, and insist on knowing who he was taking out. Maybe he could just take her to a flick, then to a café afterward for dinner? He sure wished he knew what she'd like to do. How he wished he could read her mind…

At seven Peter headed over to Leslie's with some take-out Chinese food. He'd called and told her he'd be bringing dinner. He thought it might be fun. The other guys were waiting for their frozen dinners to heat up as he was heading out the door.

"Where you going, man?" asked Davy, those ever-watchful brown eyes of his taking in Peter's black dress pants and black shiny shirt with a V-neck. Even Davy could appreciate how great Peter looked in black. It really brought out Peter's exceptionally well sculpted body.

"Gotta hot date. G'night, guys!"and Peter ducked out the door before Davy could fire any more questions at him. Getting past Davy was a major accomplishment, and Peter took pride in it.

Micky and Davy stared at each other. "_Peter_, a hot date, _and_ on a Monday night?" Micky looked truly befuddled.

By the time Peter got to Leslie's house, she had the blender full of White Russians made up, nice and frothy, with the cream making it just the right degree of thick. It had taken a while to get it just the way she wanted it, but the effort paid off, as it tasted heavenly. She gasped out loud when she saw him, not meaning to, but not being able to help it. He had walked right in, heeding Leslie's orders to do so. What a sight he was! His perfectly combed blond hair shimmering and gleaming, his ever-present smile reaching his soulful hazel eyes, and the fact that he was dressed all in black set her pulse to racing. His V-neck showed just enough of the hair on his chest to seriously entice her. He looked sinfully forbidding. My God, she was glad it was nearly dark outside, because women wouldn't be able to help taking major notice of him. He was lucky, she mused, that he'd made it there without being assaulted. Christ, but he had sex appeal!

He laid the Chinese take-out on the kitchen table as she continued to stare openly at him, not realizing what she was doing. He squirmed inwardly. Was there something wrong that had gotten so much of her attention directed at him? He flipped his head to free his eyes of that ever present luxurious hair of his as he straightened up to look back at her. She got a whiff of his shampoo from about ten feet away.

She stepped forward, after having put the blender into the fridge. "Smells delicious, and so do you," she said in what was almost a purr… She couldn't wait until they were done eating. Peter had brought a variety, and two of Leslie's favorites—spring rolls and chow mein. They savored it, sharing bites of whatever they were eating. It was intimate, feeding each other like that. It was very difficult for Leslie to concentrate on the food, all she could do to hold herself back from him. Peter had to have a fortune cookie, as what is Chinese food without them, he asked? When he shyly placed the message he'd found inside his cookie discreetly on the table without commenting, Leslie waited until he took his plate into the kitchen, then picked it up to read it. It claimed he'd be lucky in love. When they were done, she dumped the empty paper containers into the trash and threw the plates into the sink of soapy water.

Whirling toward him with a flourish after she'd removed the blender from the fridge, she poured a tall glass of the White Russian cocktail and handed it to him.

"I don't know what alcoholic beverage you prefer, but you might like this…" she waggled her eyebrows at him comically.

"Wow, that looks groovy! What is it?"

"White Russian." When he looked at her quizzically, she explained. "Vodka, kahlua, and cream. Tastes like a milkshake. What kind of spirits do you usually have?" she asked.

"Oh, we're not imaginative at the Pad. We drink beer, mostly. Now and then hard liquor, but we guys, used to being poor, have always had Falstaff around. We call it 'Fall Flat,' he snickered. "Now that we're making more money, we're still in the habit of grabbing it off the shelves, even though we can afford decent beer now."

Leslie laughed. "So, I take it you do drink alcoholic beverages?"

"Oh yeah. You didn't have to do this, you know." He took a swig of it and a look of bliss washed over his face. "This is great—it _does_ taste like a milkshake!"

Peter drank his White Russian milkshake happily, proclaiming after every swallow how delicious it was. Leslie drank all hers too, and they agreed another one would be even better. Leslie went into the kitchen, pouring them each another tall glass of the frothy stuff. She was feeling just a wee bit high. Presenting it to him, they clinked their glasses together, and Leslie suddenly noticed Peter was acting like the Peter she knew as strictly a friend. Back when they'd had long talks, walked along the beach, discussed books, swung in the swings at the park, played like kids. Before all the complications had set in. The relaxed, laid back, mellow Peter had once again been freed. _Jackpot!_

She went to put the blender back into the refrigerator. It was almost empty. "Drink up, sweet Peter," she said to him from the kitchen, and he wasn't certain, but he thought he saw a strange kind of twinkle in her eye before he sunk back on the couch…giving in to the pleasant warmth in his belly. "Peeeeeeter, the moon's 100% full tonight…"

"Uptight, outasite," was Peter's soft response. Leslie didn't see his head, and when she approached, she was startled to see he was lying back on the couch, on his back. He looked up at her with eyes that could be described no other way than sexy as hell. Sleepy looking, heavy lidded, and what was the most sensual about this whole scene was the way he was lying there, looking languid and satisfied. _Relaxed._

At first she thought with dismay that he must be hopelessly drunk, but then realized he was just buzzed, having already finished half of his second tumbler of White Russian. He'd set it on the coffee table, carefully on a coaster. She was happy to see he'd had the sense to stop drinking before he got sloppy drunk. There wasn't any question now that he was a transformed Peter. If she could have molded him just the way she wanted him, this would be it. The come hither look along with the enormous bulge in his pants told her all she needed to know…


	19. Chapter 19

That teasing, almost naughty look in his eye was unbearable; she felt her heart rate quicken.

_Wicked…_

"Peter..." she giggled, a tiny touch of apprehension coloring the sound.

"What?" he asked, sounding concurrently sly and adorable. He could get away with _murder_ with that dimple of his!

"Well... it's just that... for one thing, I've never seen you lying on my couch. Not that I don't like it," she said quickly, "because I do. It's just funny to see you like that—all of a sudden, all kick-back, and looking a little bit...mischievous, almost." She also noticed he'd taken his shoes off.

Peter was putting on a show, and he had to admit to himself that he was enjoying this enormously. He toyed with the idea of pretending he was a bit drunk, which he wasn't. He wasn't a lightweight-could keep up with his roommates easily when they drank. True, he was used to drinking mainly beer, but a tumbler and a half of White Russian, or whatever she called it wasn't going to get him drunk. He was just a bit buzzed, and the best thing about it was it was just the right amount so that he was no longer nervous around her; he felt free and easy. Liberated! No more worrying and scrutinizing every little thing he said. No more tension. He could now just be himself, which is what he'd been longing for since last night. And luring her in with a little bit of pretending shouldn't hurt anything.

Leslie wasn't tipsy, but she did feel the warmth in her cheeks, and all remnants of any tension she'd had were gone. She hadn't been too sure in the beginning, but now she knew she'd made the right decision about serving the White Russians. The only difference in Peter was his basic demeanor-he certainly wasn't drunk. He was simply back to the Peter she'd met months ago, once he'd gotten comfortable with her. Happy, cheerful, natural, albeit almost _too _relaxed. Almost making her a bit uneasy with that _wicked _look. She felt as if they were switching roles. She suspected she was no longer the predator, but now the pred-ee. She wished she could get across to him that the real Peter was far better than any act he might be putting on. He didn't have to try to impress her in any way-just being himself was quite impressive enough. If he only knew how special he was-how much fun she had when she was with him, how much trust she had in him…

She walked around the couch to where he lay, and he instantly started to sit up.

"No, no. Stay there. I enjoy just looking at you," and she pressed him back with her hand. She was starting to like this wicked look—it made her feel sexy.

Peter looked perplexed, but he resumed his former position, one finger on his lower lip as if he were in thought. His eye contact was steady. Good sign. The poor man had no clue how attractive he was! It was just as well-she'd rather he stay in the dark for as long as possible, as sharing him was not a pleasing thought.

Kneeling beside the couch, she placed her tumbler on the coffee table alongside his. She was in a rare mood, feeling very gutsy. She decided to test him to see just how much his inhibitions had lowered.

"Wow, I'm in such an affectionate mood tonight," she said, as if she'd just had an epiphany, at the same time smoothing the hair on his forehead with lightly stroking fingers. He perked up like a hungry lion spying a deer.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"I've got plenty affection, if you want some from me," and she could swear his voice was pulling her toward him. Somehow she ended up on the couch beside him. She wasn't sure who had made the first move, but they'd both aided in getting her up there. It was a tight squeeze, and uncomfortable.

"The rug on the floor!" she said. No sooner had she said it than he got up, took her hand, and led her to it. "It's chilly in here, don't you think?" she asked Peter.

"Yeah, and I saw the wood outside, stacked at the side of the house. Where'd you get it? I've been wanting to ask."

"My landlord left it for me."

"By the way, what'd he say about the fence?"

"Oh, he liked it. He looked really pleased. He likes Breezy too." Her landlord didn't come over often—only once every few months, as he lived out of state, but he felt very fortunate to have a tenant like Leslie. The dog was very well mannered, and would deter burglars too, and he thought the fence looked very neat, adding to the appeal of the house.

"Wanna fire?" asked Peter.

"Yes!" She was hoping he'd suggest it. What was more romantic than a fire? Only if the rug had been a bearskin would this have been better.

Leslie went about washing the two dishes they'd used while Peter built a fire. While in the kitchen, she idly watched him hunched over as he squatted, arranging the kindling, then the wood, and, frankly, she admired his butt. He had the fire stoked and going well by the time she came back into the living room. Peter was sprawled out on the rug, and when she laid down beside him, he gifted her with a lazy, sultry smile that stretched her heart like taffy.

"You feeling good?" he asked.

"Yes, those White Russians are soooooo good." She'd finished her second one, and Peter had finished his. Leslie was feeling more and more like sexually attacking him. Maybe it wasn't completely appropriate, but did she care? Not a bit. Not tonight. Now she had to figure out a way to coax him toward more touching and a little less talking.

"That's it though, no more for me. I know what kind of hangover kahlua causes," she said knowingly. She got up and took their empty tumblers into the kitchen. "From back in my party days," she threw over her shoulder.

"_Now_ you tell me!" said Peter in mock horror. "I've never had the stuff before, and you tell me I'm gonna be sick tomorrow after it's already too late! Thanks a lot. Good thing we won't be practicing."

"Sorry, Peter. But it's the only way I could figure to get you to relax."

"I'm just kidding. I hardly ever get hangovers. But I'm still gonna get you for it," and he was up in a flash, running toward her. He'd almost reached her at the sink when she dodged to the left, and Peter's foot came down right in the middle of Breezy's very large bowl of water. The bowl slid across the floor, splashing water over the sides.

"Shit!" cried Peter. Leslie clapped her hand over her mouth as Peter hopped out of the bowl, water dripping copiously from his sock. "Sorry about that," he looked at her sheepishly, and she realized he was apologizing for cussing. It was the first cuss word she'd ever heard him say. Somehow that made it even funnier.

Peter peeled off his sopping wet sock. Leslie wrung it out and draped it on the edge of the sink.

"Come over by the fire with me and I'll dry your foot. It wasn't only his foot that was soaking, but his ankle too, and part of his calf as well. She brought a dish towel from the kitchen and sat down beside him on the rug, in front of the toasty fire, the White Russians streaming a warm river through her veins, and pulled up his pant leg, and the lust hit her like a truck. With Peter, it didn't take much.

She started with his foot, drying between each toe, and how something so simple could be sensual had her flustered, and her heart fluttering. As she worked her way slowly over his ankle, she saw the reddish brown hair on his legs, and wondered just how much of it he had on his chest, and, well… other areas. It was exciting to see the hair, and she wanted to touch it. _Masculine…_

It was funny, but she'd never seen Peter shirtless in all the time she'd known him. They'd been on the beach mostly at night, and he'd always had a shirt on. Even when he and Michael had put her fence up, they'd both kept their shirts on. But Leslie hadn't failed to notice how toned his arms were when he wore short sleeves. His flat stomach along with such a sweet, tight butt and those strong, shapely legs told her he had to have quite a cute body underneath.

She dried his calves, not being able to help herself when she kneaded the muscles there gently, with her bare fingers, marveling over their firmness. She made the mistake of looking up at him at one point, and that darn bulge in his pants was _very_ visible again. She was in a prime position to see it. There was no way she was going to miss it, as it stood out quite conspicuously.

Peter had seen her fleeting glance at his crotch, and he felt like dying right on the spot. She must think he was a perverted jerk! He wondered if women knew that men couldn't control their erections. He'd never talked to a woman about it before, so he had no idea. Since his experience with women was very limited except for a few isolated, quick episodes, he really, literally knew next to nothing. At least, he thought, Leslie was aware of that. He wished there were some possible way he could hide his erection, but nope, wasn't gonna happen. He didn't wear underwear on top of the fact that he was very well endowed.

He was smiling in that heartbreaking way again when she threw the towel aside, laid down beside him and rested her head on his chest.

"Still feeling….romantic?" It had taken shitloads of courage to say it, but he'd managed it.

"Yes…I can't help it around you, Peter."

"Come closer then." How could she get any closer? She was lying by his side, her head on his chest. Oh… she was pretty sure she knew what he meant. He wanted her head closer to his, and she hoped it was for the same reason she was thinking it was. She scooted up so her mouth was even with the bottom of his jaw. She was just too shy to practically jam her face right into his. He'd have to make _some _kind of move. She couldn't do it all. Well, she could, but she honestly didn't know if she had the guts. _Grow a pair!_ … said her inner dialogue. Who knew, she might never get the chance again. Lightning could strike her down tomorrow. She moved to get up on her elbows and felt a little dizzy. That last half tumbler had made a bit of difference. Great, now she was afraid she'd end up unbecomingly drunk.

"Don't worry, it's okay," Peter, in his keen perceptiveness had seen the disquiet in her eyes. "You're just a little tipsy. You're not going to be falling down drunk or anything like that."

His words, as they almost always did, eased her anxiety. "And I want you to know… even though it was _your_ idea about the White Russians, I won't take advantage of you. Of course… that doesn't mean I won't resist if you try to take advantage of _me."_ Was that a strong hint, or what? He was being playful—another good sign!

Even so, they were still caught, or more precisely, wedged if you will, in a romantic deadlock of sorts. This almost felt like an implausible contest.

_Why can't I even fuckin' kiss her?_ Peter was furious with himself—frustrated beyond what he'd thought was possible. How had he managed it that night at the vet clinic? _Because they'd gone toward each other at the same time. _ But he couldn't very easily say, _okay, one, two, three, go!_ This was a matter of being a man or a mouse, he told himself repeatedly. _Get a grip, Peter!_ She was resting on her elbows, right above his head, and all he had to do was merely lift his head a few inches to meet her lips, but every time he gathered himself to do it, he went to pieces.

Okay, just a little more White Russian. Just a little. He told her he had to get up, and she looked rather defeated as she rolled to the side to allow him to do so. The blender was empty, so he poured some kahlua, vodka and cream into his tumbler and mixed it up with a spoon. Leslie watched on in curiosity. How had he been so relaxed, and then, just a few minutes later, became paralyzed with fear again?

He made only a third of a tumbler, drank it at the sink, then came back to sit beside her, wrapping his arms around his knees and looking down at her. _This better work!_

It took only fifteen or twenty minutes, by her estimation. They talked about different kinds of music and what it meant to them. Leslie waited patiently for him—he was worth every minute. She could actually see when the last of his self-induced resistance had finally given way. She saw it washing over his face, and his body gracefully slid down on the rug beside her. She moved over to him and ended up at the same level as he—heads together, he on his back. That was when she got up on her elbows again and pecked him on the lips for about half a second, pulling back and then giggling shyly. Okay, enough already. The rest was up to him…

Peter knew there was no way in this world she would turn down his kiss now. It had taken a lot of grunt worthy effort to get here, and more on her part than his, but it was time he stopped running. It was time to surrender… oh, and what a sweet surrender it was. He raised his head and kissed her back—with the intention of it lasting a bit longer than half a second, for starters. It lasted a_ lot_ longer than that. She didn't let him break it, and he was so thankful for that. She eased herself over his chest, one elbow at each side of his head.

His lips… oh his lips. So warm, soft, and pliable. Giving, taking, and finally… insisting. Insisting that she take notice of him. And how could she not? Insisting she desire him as much as he desired her. His body wouldn't let him stop now. He wanted kiss after kiss after kiss, all melded into one long, devastating one.

Leslie had never adhered to another man the way she did to Peter. Her breasts resting heavily on his chest now, she caressed the back of his neck, almost enfolding his face in her arms as they kissed. He was demanding in a way—and that was probably caused by his overwhelming need, but he was also tender. It didn't seem that would be possible, but then, this was _Peter._ Combined, these elements at the same time were astonishingly sensual.

At first he was clumsy, which she found endearing and also a bit frustrating, but that quickly dissipated and passion replaced it, bringing natural powerful emotion with it that was heartfelt. She realized somewhere in her consciousness that he didn't really even have a whole lot of experience in kissing. Even so, he was trying his best, and consequently got better and better at it, in only a matter of minutes. He was very observant of her actions and reactions, and he copied them to some extent. Otherwise, he just did what came naturally, what felt good, and what she responded to. He didn't overwhelm her or push her to the point of possible resistance, but he let her know in no uncertain terms that he had the feelings in plentiful supply. She could hardly believe she was kissing the same shy, bashful Peter that had been stuttering and struggling just a short time ago. Did he learn instruments as quickly as he picked up on this? If so, it explained why he played so many.

The kissing held an almost desperate quality to it, their mouths gradually opening, giving and receiving more and more, and Leslie feeling as if some type of rare blossom was coming into bloom, opening torturously slowly to reveal the colors underneath. She felt his hardness against her upper leg and her blood raged into flames. She felt the tickle of his tongue just at her lips, questing—searching, but not entering. She half nibbled, half cradled it with her teeth, applying the tiniest bit of pressure, beckoning him, urging him to continue. His tongue crept in slowly, questing, as if searching for an answer.

Peter was being guided by nothing but nature, and a little bit of experimentation. It seemed to be working, but his mind was in such a haze that he was more or less acting on pure instinct. Leslie's body was molding to his, so he knew she was liking what he was delivering, but he didn't know what to do next. He would have happily just kissed her all night long, but he sensed that he should know when things should go farther. But he had no idea…

_All he lacked was confidence and a gentle hand to guide him._ Leslie knew this, but she was nervous herself, as this wasn't even comparable to her lovemaking with Michael. Michael knew what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. Peter was a plane without a pilot, a horse without a rider…no real direction, and nearly out of control.

The throbbing was as intense as Peter had ever known. Micky had admitted to "blowing his wad," as he so delicately put it, one time before he had even entered a girl. Peter was terrified of that happening to him. How would he survive the embarrassment? She'd surely know, as how could he explain having to go to the bathroom right in the middle of their passionate kissing? Then there would also be the wet spot on his pants. There would be no way he'd get out of it undetected.

The moans escaped Peter even though he tried to rein them in. _Only kissing,_ and he was moaning, thought Leslie. He was going to be some lover when he had the basics down! The whirlwind was churning ever faster, making them feel as if they were being swept into some kind of sensual cyclone. The noises alone would be enough to arouse anyone hearing them. They were both moaning now, in stereo, rolling around on the thick, soft rug, first Leslie on top, then Peter; the fire warming them and the flames flickering a reflection in their eyes when they stopped to look at each other.

"I'm sorry…. I don't…. I mean… " Peter tried to convey how lost and without direction he felt.

"What are you sorry for, Peter? Everything is perfect."

"It is? But… I don't know what to…" he was just too mortified to say any more.

"Peter…" said Leslie, understanding what he was trying to get across. "Just let things happen naturally. I'll help you," and she embraced him again. He wondered for a moment, how many men she'd been with, but then, she was older than he was, and she and Michael… oh no. He mustn't think of that now!

When he wasn't looking, Leslie discreetly eased down the very narrow straps of her blouse onto her upper arms and encouraged him to lay on her. Just enough for him to get a glimpse of some serious cleavage. He saw, and politely slid one strap back onto her shoulder. She smiled in spite of the heart stopping arousal that clutched her. He was such the gentleman—even now, in this situation. And somehow… that was so very sexy.

"Let it stay down, Peter. If you prefer…"

The soft suggestiveness in her voice was something he hadn't heard before, and it was intriguing. She almost sounded like a temptress. Then he was jolted with the realization that she _wanted_ her blouse straps that way—for _him_! It must be for him. His emotions soared, his heart stopping smile taking possession of his face. Down came the strap once more—Peter's doing.

Leslie wasn't wearing a bra, as the narrow straps didn't allow it. This was considered risque in the 60s, but she'd known they wouldn't be leaving her house. The blouse wasn't sheer, so she doubted Peter even realized she was braless. She just thought it would be a good choice for tonight. If anything _were_ to happen, she wanted to make things as easy for Peter as possible, because God knows, he needed a break from any more difficulties than he was already burdened with tonight. She still didn't really expect anything much to occur. So far, she couldn't really see Peter in a sexual setting. Not that he was any less a man or anything—it was just that… his experience was almost nil and she was fairly certain he would stop well short of making love for fear of messing up. He needed time, time to build his self- esteem and confidence in his capability. And she would wait for as long as it took—even if that were a very long time.

But it was possible that she might be able to delicately coach him. Peter didn't seem to have the usual large sized male ego, so he'd be a good candidate. His personality seemed to demonstrate he was open to suggestion—he was rarely contrary and never overly opinionated. If she knew him as well as she thought she did, then as long as she didn't scare him shitless, she'd bet money he would be an incredibly willing student.

Peter was_ into_ the kissing in a big way. He was so feral, once he got immersed that he was _almost _a little scary. He literally plunged himself into it. He reminded her of a wild animal—gone was the quiet, polite Peter she knew so well, a tiger having replaced him. If Leslie hadn't trusted him so much she would have thought she was in danger of getting raped. But hey… even if that _did_ happen, she wasn't about to fight it. She'd just teach him finesse and details a little further down the road. She'd never been kissed so thoroughly, and who would have thought that only about 20 minutes ago, he'd been largely ignorant in the art of kissing? If this were any indication… it was going to be one trippy experience. One she could barely wait for, and pray it wouldn't take_ too_ long, or she might well end up raping _him._

She wanted to help him discover his sensuality, at leisure, if her libido would allow it. No pressure. Let nature take over, watch the wonder in his eyes when he discovered lovemaking didn't have to be what he'd had before—just a furious, wild coupling that only lasted a few minutes. It must have been so unsatisfying for him—Peter, who was such an integral lover.

Peter was loving this kissing so much that he had no expectations of anything else happening. Therefore, when Leslie placed his hand to the side of her breast, he was so startled that he actually jumped. She made little satisfied noises, rubbing very lightly against him with her torso to let him in on the secret… that she loved having her breasts touched. Peter had touched a few breasts before, but only very briefly. He'd never really gotten into any heavy petting sessions, as sex in the past had been just that—merely sex, with no foreplay. He didn't even know you were _allowed_ to have foreplay. He'd been under the impression that a woman might get angry and feel violated if he did too much exploration of her body.

Every time Peter kissed her, Leslie got wetter. She didn't care if she floated away on a sea of her own fluids, if Peter went with her. His hand remained perfectly still on the side of her breast, and she knew he was afraid to move it. Somewhere in between wild, deep kisses, she rubbed his hand slightly, not obviously, against her breast purposely with her fingers, remarking in a whisper on how good it felt. No doubt that would make it very clear to him that she wanted to be touched there.

And now… now he wanted to explore further, but didn't know what was appropriate, and what was not. So little by little, as he continued to kiss her, he began to caress the side of her breast, so lightly that he was hardly making contact. Leslie made certain she moaned every time he did it—positive reinforcement. As they rolled around on the rug, Leslie somehow maneuvered him into a position where he was under her, and his hand was under her blouse, palm up, albeit still on her stomach. All he needed now was a little bit of encouragement to move his hand higher, and then, hopefully, he would just allow nature to tell him the rest.

His heart overflowing with gratefulness that she actually _wanted_ him touching her, Peter tentatively slid his hand up the side of her belly, up to her ribs. His touch was so light, it might have been a breeze, had she not known better. Leslie nearly held her breath with the suspense. Just a few more inches and he'd be there—touching her braless breast. She yearned for it with everything she had.

His hand was almost to its goal when the phone rang. They just stared at each other in disbelief. _What the hell?_ Leslie glanced at the clock and had her answer. Michael. Oh, Michael. How could she have forgotten he was going to call tonight? Guilt shaded them both red as it also dawned on Peter.

Smoothing her blouse down and feeling like the worst kind of cheater, Leslie got up and answered the phone. His voice just made her feel all the more shamed. Its soft, slight hushed quality made her knees shaky even though she'd just been on a serious path to intimacy with Peter. These two men had her in a terrible quandary.

"Michael!" she cried, unable to hide her deep affection for him in her voice. Even in spite of his extremely aroused state, Peter couldn't help smiling himself.

"How is it going?"

"Alright. Missing you more than a mama cat who's had to wean her kittens though," Michael and his metaphors!

"Oh, we miss you too, so much!" said Leslie without realizing until it was out of her mouth that she'd said "we." Nonetheless, Michael sounded pleased. His voice didn't change at all. _He knew._ After a few minutes he asked to talk to Peter, not even bothering to first ask if he were "around," like he had last time he'd called.

Peter, with a huge grin on his face, took the receiver and chatted with Mike happily. He needed to adjust his boner, but he was afraid Leslie would see. Michael sounded like he felt as if he were on another planet, and Peter felt empathy for him. How miserable he knew_ he'd_ be if he were that far away from Leslie, yet hearing her voice as if she were in the same room. That would be pure torture. He surprised himself by hoping Michael felt the same about _him._

When they got off the phone, Peter turned to Leslie. "Do you realize Michael called a day early?" he asked. Leslie thought for a moment, then her mouth opened in surprise. "You're right! He just called last night! He wasn't supposed to call until tomorrow night!"

"Know why? He's missing us a whole bunch," said Peter, as he moved to stoke the fire and add some wood.

Leslie couldn't help thinking about the last time the phone had rung at a very inconvenient time, to say the least. That was the night she and Michael had just finished making love, and Peter had called about Breezy. _At least they'd already made love. _She had no idea how she was going to get things rolling again tonight. It had been a bumpy road since the beginning with so many fits and starts, and there was no guarantee Peter would get into the groove smoothly again. All she could do was give it her best shot and hope Peter's nerves weren't past the point of no return.

Actually, Peter was just the right amount of buzzed to be feeling maybe, just a little bit, careless. Not careless in a bad way, but lacking the tight control he'd cinched down on himself for fear of alienating her. Just mellow enough to let things go where they would. How bad could things get, anyway? She'd said she would guide him.

He joined Leslie, who was back on the rug, as she was luxuriating in the warmth of the fire, and missing being in Michael's arms at the same time. The phone call had made her think about what she was doing here with Peter, and Michael, nearly a third across the country, missing her, Peter, and the others. Michael, how unselfish he truly was—letting her see Peter, knowing Peter had a chance to steal her heart—that was even more unsettling. Her heart throbbed heavily for him.

Peter took her hand in his. "I know… how it feels to talk to Michael, and want him here. I do know, I really do." _How could he?_ He wasn't possibly falling in love with Michael, yet attracted to someone else at the same time. How could he possibly know how she felt?

She had a haunted look in her eye. "What we're doing… it's not right. It's not right what we're doing to Michael."

"I'd never hurt Michael. He… talked to me before he left. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, except to check on you. He… told me he felt we needed this… time alone together," he trailed off, afraid she'd think he was trying to persuade her into something she didn't feel right about. And he wasn't about to wade into those waters. He knew, within himself that Michael was being Michael—not insanely possessive like so many guys he knew. Not asking anything of her other than she be true to herself. But explaining all this to Leslie would only put himself, Peter, in a bad light. He didn't want her to think he was being self-serving, just trying to get her into bed. So he wasn't going to say any more.

"He said more or less the same thing to me…." She was thoughtful. "But I wonder if he really _meant _it. That's what's the most troubling to me." Peter just nodded, determined not to argue on his own behalf.

"I know how hard it would be for _me_ to do what he's doing. I admire him… more than just about anyone I know, for being so considerate, so selfless," he said.

Nothing was going to happen tonight. The mood had up and escaped out the window, drifting on the ocean breeze, and God knew when it might return… if ever. He'd better quit wasting her time. She probably wanted to be alone—especially after the phone call from Michael. She wouldn't be so rude as to ask him to go home, so like it or not, he had to speak up.

"I'd better… I'd better," he sputtered. "I'd better get back to the Pad, and let you… do whatever—think, read, watch TV." Peter got up and headed for the door.

"Really? You have to leave so early?" and before she even knew what she was going to do next, Leslie was in his arms, fairly fastened to him. Her arms were a rubber band, squeezing him steadily, and saying a whole lot without her having to utter a single word. He nestled his face into her neck, no longer any battles going on within him. He had already surrendered some time before—it had only been her misgivings and uncertainties holding them back.

"Peter…." That tone, so breathless, so awe-solemn and filled with wonder, stopped him in his tracks. She was molded to him so that no crack remained open to the air. There couldn't be any mistaking her passion for him. _Her passion for him._ Yes, him! As they passed by the lamp, she set it to the dimmest setting. She then led him back to the thick, cushy, soft rug and pulled him down with her. Peter sighed long and reverently and gathered her hungrily into his arms…


	20. Chapter 20

Leslie needn't have worried. It didn't take much to rekindle the passion. In fact, it didn't really take anything at all. Peter just fell into it. They started nearly where they'd left off a few minutes earlier. The kisses once again began as tender, sweet, seemingly pristine, then jet streamed off Jupiter into a virtual frenzy. Leslie was willingly swallowed up in Peter's waves of lust that he was having a hell of a time repressing. The intensity of it left them shaken. It was riveting to see a man coming alive sexually, ascertaining all the extraordinary possibilities. He was so pure… She felt as if she were going on this journey with him—seeing and feeling it all for the first time. So pure… but it wasn't going to last.

It held that wonderful flavor of youth, like back when she was sixteen and everything intimate was new territory to be explored and then cherished for the rest of her life. Only this time it was with Peter, and vastly different. How wonderful to start over! Michael had renewed her faith in men, and she was now paying it forward.

Peter was going to leave manhood behind at the ripe old age of 25. Even though he'd had sex before, he'd not tasted more than a miniscule element. In a way, it was bittersweet.

Leslie happened to be on top, as they both liked rolling around playfully on the rug, and his stealthy hand was under her blouse not much later, inching up until it was in the same place it had been when the phone rang. Leslie's breath hitched when she felt it sliding smoothly, higher and higher.

_Give him a chance to discover things on his own._

She didn't know about his threshold, but judging from the way he was panting and squirming, she had some doubts if he'd even make it until his pants came off. When his hand reached her breast, he gasped at the lack of a bra there. She'd been busy kissing his neck, and now she raised herself a little, and his hand slipped right under her breast. He tentatively cupped it, clearly not knowing what else he should do. But thank goodness the White Russians still had him feeling braver than he ever would have been sober, and he brushed her nipple first with his thumb, then gained the courage to take it between his fingers, glorying in it, rubbing it, still being careful every step of the way to gauge her reaction before continuing.

Peter was pleased beyond words when Leslie responded so favorably to his ministrations. He'd had no idea women's breasts were that sensitive! But this delighted him, as he saw it as another challenge—he wanted to make her feel good this way and as many other ways as he possibly could. He wanted to explore-he wanted to see her breasts, but with her on top, and them kissing, it would be difficult. So he rolled again until he was on top, her blouse having slipped gracefully down to bare both breasts. But then another problem presented itself. He found he didn't have the nerve to draw back and look at her.

Most of this time, he was kissing her. His tongue was beginning to explore her mouth, growing bolder all the time. It finally entered fully, the sides of it rubbing against hers, Peter making contented, yet impatient noises all the while. Leslie's insides were doing crazy things. It felt like sparks had ignited within her. His kisses were so passionate, nothing being held back. Haltingly, he ventured forth. Now both his hands were on her breasts, and he had done it very gradually, afraid that at any given moment she might take offense and turn him away. He looked down into her eyes, the light from the fire glinting off his golden hair that was hanging down over his face, reflecting also in his amber eyes…oh my… and she saw a hint of trepidation there.

"It's alright Peter. This is wonderful…" He smiled, obviously in need of a boost. He continued to caress her breasts as he kissed her neck. He suddenly remembered what he'd done with Michael, and he delivered a few hesitant licks to her neck, seeking her reaction. She went completely quiet, unable to move, really-savoring it and the goose bumps that went along with it. His mouth was moist and hot, and it reminded Leslie that Peter probably had heaps of passion bottled up inside him, far more than she was seeing now, and her inkling that he might be a great lover surfaced again. After licking, he performed his open mouth kisses to her neck, and then, finally, softly sucked. Leslie thought she'd surely come out of her own skin.

"Oh… Peter!" A series of moans followed, and Peter knew he was clearly on the right track. It seemed Leslie and Michael were turned on by some of the same things, noted Peter. Now Leslie wanted his mouth on her, but didn't want to be overly obvious, so she very subtly pushed his head down to her upper chest, breathing deeply at the same time so her chest rose. He eagerly continued kissing her chest and shoulders, and then a bit lower… but he pulled up rather abruptly before actually making any contact with her breasts, not being sure what was expected of him. Would she get upset with him if he were to… put his mouth on her breasts? Kiss them? He didn't know for sure if a guy was supposed to do that, or if it were reserved just for babies. Sure, he'd heard plenty of dirty jokes, but when it came down to this, he wasn't certain if a "nice" girl allowed things like that. Same with oral sex—he'd heard a lot about it from the other guys, but he didn't know if it were just the "naughty" girls who participated in activities like that. It sounded just heavenly, and when the guys mentioned it, he'd go to bed and jerk off wildly, imagining it in his mind.

"Um…." Peter was in a tight spot—what should he do? Ask permission? Or just do it and hope for the best?

Leslie's breath caught in her throat when she saw Peter stealing a look at her breasts. She hoped he liked what he saw. She couldn't compete with those women in the girlie magazines, with the huge breasts. Hers weren't tiny, but weren't overly large either. Just a little more than a handful.

"You're beautiful… "Peter said reverently, just as those doubtful thoughts were going through her mind. Bless him, this beautiful, golden, loving man.

"Can I ... I mean… oh God…" Peter wasn't able to voice what he wanted to say, Leslie could see that. She wondered what he was going to ask.

"Can you what, Peter?"

"Um…" Peter tried again, only to be knocked down with disappointment in his failure to express himself _again._

"_Peter… "_Just then, she answered his unasked question by gently lowering his head to her breasts. He'd heard a pleading quality in her voice. He didn't know it, but she would never have had the nerve to do that with any other guy. He was beyond happy, and couldn't wait to do something that his past hurried encounters had not allowed time for. He nuzzled her breasts, he kissed, and when Leslie's movements seemed to indicate she ached for more, he licked. He was fascinated with the way her nipples hardened and lengthened under his touch. Like pencil erasers. He felt his sex pulsating—this was turning him on to no end—his accelerator was floored.

After licking for a while, Leslie was writhing around so much under his mouth that it just came naturally for him to suck. When his lips first touched her, that was when Leslie_ really_ went wild. She jerked, and then clung to the back of his head. Peter was astonished at her passion. _So this was what sex was supposed to be all about. _No wonder… he'd wondered why his experiences paled in comparison to things he'd heard. Now he knew why—you had to be with the right person. You had to really feel it. This whole evening had carried a flavor that he'd never had the pleasure of tasting. Peter hoped he'd hold out long enough to at least feel her naked body against his. That is, if she would allow it. He didn't know if you were supposed to do everything in one night, or if you built up to it in increments over time. No matter, he would respect whatever she wanted.

The sucking and the tonguing he was doing at the same time made her realize he was going to be one masterful lover. Peter had a knack for sure. He somehow knew it was sending bolts of pleasure all over her body. He felt it _through_ her.

As for Leslie, she got powerful vibrations right down to her uterus. Electric surges flashed here and there, and she cried out. There was an ache in her middle that seemed to reach out for him.

Peter was still amazed at how his actions were affecting her. He knew one thing… nothing had _ever_ excited him like this. He spent a ridiculous amount of time on her breasts, sensing she needed and craved it. He wanted so badly to please her—make her feel good. Leslie was overjoyed with all the attention, and she seemed to be getting more sensitive all the time. She wondered if she would orgasm with him this way, as she had with Michael, but as soon as she felt that she might be building toward it, he rolled over onto his back. Oh well… that was something else for him to discover later on. No rush.

"Oh man… " he said. She knew he had to take a break or he just might experience an explosion that he didn't want right now. She saw all the signs—his flushed face, his rapid breathing and how that huge bulge stayed just as hard all the time they'd been on the rug together. He probably thought she didn't know how he was feeling, and she wanted to let him know it was perfectly natural.

"You're worked up Peter… I know that. And so am I. But just let things happen as they will." She hoped that would put his mind at ease. His dimple peeked out as he smiled slightly. "I don't want to embarrass myself." She'd been correct.

"I understand what you're saying, Peter. And even if that did happen… there's always later. No big deal."

"I'm a little nervous, but am I doing alright?"

"Peter, I don't cry out like that unless I'm really aroused. You just do what comes naturally, and we'll be fine."

Peter began kissing her again, little whimpers of anticipation sneaking out now and then. She smiled. He was still a little boy in some ways, and so much a man in others. She liked the combination. He was intriguing. Fun and exciting—never boring.

She busied herself undressing him. The flickering firelight showed hesitancy in his eyes, but he was also anxious to feel her bare skin against his own. As his shirt came off, Leslie got to see his naked torso for the first time. She couldn't help her huge intake of breath at the sight. She loved the hair on his chest, his lean stomach, his nicely toned arms. She looked at him openly, letting the appreciation become obvious. She wanted him to have no doubt that she liked what she saw. Getting his belt off was a bit more intricate, as he was uncomfortable with being exposed. She could tell from the jerky, uncoordinated movements he made and the way he held his breath at times.

It was time to unzip his zipper, and he quickly took over to do it himself. She found out why very shortly. He wore no underwear, and she knew he was afraid she might catch him in the zipper. He stood up to tend to it, turning his back to her. It was comical yet charming for him to do so, considering they would soon be completely unconcealed. It was so Peter-like to be modest.

After his pants came off, he removed his remaining sock and sat down, his back still to her.

"Peter, I'll get undressed now. That way we won't be… as shy."

He nodded, and she turned her back as he had done and quickly shed her clothes. When she turned back around, his eyes were on her in an instant. He had turned to her, so they could see each other. Leslie tried not to stare, but his size amazed her. He was every bit as big, if not a bit bigger, than Michael. And he had more girth too. _Oh heavens…_ After a few more seconds, she sat down beside him, and he embraced her.

"You're beautiful… I meant it the first time I said it. You're even more beautiful completely nude," he said.

"And Peter… you look like an Adonis. I've thought that for a while, did you know that?" He shook his head, clearly uncomfortable hearing it, and not sure if he believed her. Him, an Adonis? He'd never felt anything but average. On their sides, Leslie felt his powerful erection, poking right into her belly. He tried to scoot back a bit out of respect, but she just followed him. "That's how it's supposed to be, Peter. We're _supposed_ to touch," she giggled softly. "You're such a gentleman… even in this situation."

"I want to do everything right," he said, and the earnestness of his remark was clear.

"You can't do any wrong. I'll guide you, and you'll have enough confidence in a short while that you'll just _know _what to do." He didn't look convinced, and it must have been truly daunting for him. Wanting her so much, longing to do the right thing, yet feeling almost out of control with his need. A lot of emotions and physical sensations were being thrown at him all at once.

Once they started to kiss though, Peter found that Leslie's words were true. He found himself running his hands up and down her back, touching her breasts, kissing her neck feverishly. He wanted to plunge himself into her, but he knew much more finesse that that was required. He also wanted to touch her down there, but didn't know how to proceed. He felt inadequate, knowing so little.

He was on his back now, and she was kissing his chest, starting to lick his nipples and suck them. Peter was shocked—women did this to men as well? And it was actually feeling good—so much so that it made his cock jerk and leak a bit. He didn't know if he was supposed to show his pleasure or not, but before long he couldn't hold it in anyway. He moaned, amazed at how taut his nipples became under her mouth, how responsive.

She moved a bit lower to kiss his belly. Peter immediately tensed up like a tight wire. Leslie felt it, and decided maybe it was a bit too soon for that. She had a feeling it would be all over in just a few seconds if she even touched him there with her mouth, so she held off for now. She also had no idea if that had ever been done to him before. She doubted it.

She inched back up, and his hand on her breast drifted down to her belly. She rolled onto her back, sensing that his instincts were taking over, and she wanted to make it as easy for him as possible.

He felt a strong, biological pull to touch her, see what it felt like. He hadn't ever touched a woman there before, as they had always simply guided his cock into their entrance. Since nothing creative had ever happened, he felt they had probably been just as inexperienced and uncertain as he. When he got to her pubic hair, his courage failed, and he started to slide his hand back up, but she stopped him.

"It feels good, Peter," her quiet voice dripped with arousal, so he went ahead and ran his fingers through the soft hair there. It felt so silky between his fingers—much softer than his own. But he couldn't find enough bravery to go further. She helped by easing his hand down with her own. He felt moistness and folds of skin there. So this, he supposed was what the guys meant when they said a woman was "wet."

"See how ready I am for you?" Leslie asked. So a woman's body got wet on its own in preparation for a man's cock, he wondered? Nature always knew just what to do. His fingers explored very slowly and cautiously. Leslie lifted her hips slightly to let him know he was progressing correctly. Thank goodness she gave him feedback instead of just lying there, as the other girls had done. They had expected him to do and know it all.

Leslie targeted his middle finger, and gently rubbed in between her legs, at her lips. He gasped. She pressed his finger to her opening, and it slid in. Peter was overcome with wonder. It was so slick, so wet, so inviting. A warm, welcoming cave for his cock. He didn't know what to do next, so he relied on Leslie, once again, to show him the way.

She did. She pressed his finger deeper, until it was completely buried within her. She moaned and raised her hips again. He wiggled his finger a bit—she gasped and her breath came quickly. Peter felt a certain pride. He was making her feel good…

She then urged him to slide his finger in and out. This turned him on so much that his cock leaked some more, and he got in even closer to her so he could insert his finger all the way with every gentle thrust. Shock slapped him in the face when she encouraged him to add another finger by actually inserting it as she had with the first one. He worked it into a rhythm, watching between their bodies as his fingers disappeared over and over again. There were no words for the erotic sight it painted.

He wiggled his fingers again, and there was a certain place that made her gasp. That must be the "G" spot that he'd heard the other guys talk about.

Suddenly, he wanted to be closer—closer to her down there. He didn't know exactly what he wanted, except that he had an overwhelming urge to see it up close, touch it… oh my God, he realized, as he neared her private parts, that he'd like to actually _taste _it! Oh boy… what kind of pervert was he, anyway? What would Leslie think if she knew his line of thinking right now? It seemed dirty, much too wanton.

"Peter, Peter…" right about the time he was thinking those thoughts, she cradled his head in her heads and guided it downward. This must be a dream… she was seemingly encouraging him, suffering because he wasn't closer.

Before he even quite realized what he was doing, Peter had crawled between her legs, spreading them with his hands, hardly able to believe his actions, his courage. She was right… it was all coming naturally to him.

"Can I… can I…. look, Leslie?" he asked.

"Of course you can, Peter."

Ahhh… a kid in a candy shop—that's what he was. He touched her and probed her with the utmost gentleness.

"You don't have to be that careful, Peter. You won't hurt me."

He spread her lips, fascinated with how perfect it was—so _different,_ yet so beautiful. Leslie stayed on her back, completely still while he examined her thoroughly.

"And this…" she said as she pointed to her clit, "is the real sensitive part. It's the part that gives me orgasms."

Peter gazed at it in amazement. _That little thing?_ He spread her lips a little more so he could get a better look at it. Just a little bud—that's all it was. But it was bright pink and firm, as if it was excited the way his cock was.

Suddenly he got a rush of wanting, yearning really, to actually touch it with his tongue. The intensity of the desire to do it was mind blowing. She would be horrified—she'd kick him out and tell him to never come back. He still feared it was only "naughty" girls who did and allowed stuff like that. He looked at it longingly, and Leslie saw his dilemma. She was pretty sure she knew what was churning in his mind.

"Peter… it's okay, like I told you before. Do what you _feel_… please." She wasn't absolutely certain that was what he was thinking about doing, but she had a hunch it was. Yet she didn't want to push him to do something he might find repulsive, or wasn't ready for. Some guys didn't care for oral sex with a woman, and she wasn't about to make him feel pressured to do something there was any chance he wouldn't like. So this would have to totally be his call. He was on his own now.

"I feel… nasty," he said.

"Nasty? In a good way, or a bad way?"

He thought about that for a moment. "Well… to me…. It's a good way… but to you… it might be a bad way." He wondered if he was making any sense at all as he tried to explain it without embarrassing the shit out of both of them.

"Peter, you'll have to be more clear."

He didn't answer—he just couldn't. He was too abashed, too disconcerted. Instead, he let the White Russians make suggestions. Yes… if he did the wrong thing, he'd try to make it up to her in any way he could, but he just _had_ to…

His tongue flicked out and briefly made contact with her skin folds down there. Leslie immediately moaned and her hips once again rose. Ohhhhhh…. So she liked it! The second time he actually licked. Same reaction, only stronger. The third time, now encouraged, he lingered and licked several times. He wanted to insert his tongue, but he felt that might be pushing it. He remembered how sensitive that thing she pointed to was—the thing she said gave her orgasms, so he licked that too, very lightly. He thought she was going to hit the ceiling. He'd definitely just made a significant finding…

Over the next few minutes, through careful experimentation he discovered her reaction varied, depending on what he did, and what kind of pressure he used. Easy, gentle licks that played on and off her clit drove her feral. He licked a bit too hard a couple of times, and he sensed and felt it was too much. Gentle sucking was a winner. So he began licking lightly and sucking at the same time, just as he'd done with her nipples. He soon found that was the answer.

She tasted so good! He wanted to bury his face in her. He wanted to stay down here all night. Her head thrashing back and forth, loud moans and a tightening of her leg muscles told him she was enjoying what he was doing. He kept it up, occasionally alternating with licking a little lower to catch the copious juices.

In time—not much time at all, she began chanting his name over and over, and her hips started to rise. He wondered—since he was working in the area she said gave her orgasms—if she might be on her way to one. That would be totally groovy. No sooner had he considered the possibility that she suddenly trembled and seemed to go into a spasm, followed by loud cries. "_Peter_…_Peter,_ don't stop! Oh Peter… oh my God!"

And that was when it happened. Peter was elated. He kept up his steady rhythm as she reached the peak, and he moaned along with her, very nearly climaxing himself. Peter's heart fairly soared. He'd had no idea how this was going to go, and this had been the biggest portion of his uncertainty. He had been afraid he wouldn't be able to satisfy her.

The orgasm seemed to last a very long time, was very strong, and it felt just as good as when she'd been with Michael. Peter was indeed a fast learner.

Afterward, she lay still, trying to catch her breath, and when he tried to continue, she had to stop him.

"I'm too sensitive right now, Peter. We need to wait a while." She had quite a time getting him to cease the activity—it seemed he was intoxicated by the experience. Michael had known to give her a few minutes between orgasms—Peter would learn that in time. When at last he crawled back up her body, she pulled him onto her. His eyes grew wide. Was it going to happen now? Waves of uncertainty hit him again. He wanted to do it right. He wanted everything perfect. He hoped she would keep guiding him. That was when she grasped his cock lovingly, stroking it lightly, then adjusted it to line up with her.

"Go ahead, Peter…" she had trouble getting the words out, and her voice was strained. She could hardly contain herself—needing badly to feel his length and thickness inside her. He did as she asked, and very slowly let himself sink inside, even though the urge to plunge in was almost too much. He knew better than to thrust hard right away-he'd die if he ever hurt her. He slid in slowly, the anticipation eating him alive. It took all he had to keep himself in check, but it wasn't long before she was accustomed to him and his thickness, and he was free to move.

It took some getting used to. She'd thought Michael was thick, and he was, but Peter even had him beat. Peter was only able to thrust a handful of times before he burst. Leslie wasn't surprised. Until Peter became more at ease with her and had had several orgasms with her, this was to be expected. The build-up and excitement had just been too much for him. What amazed her was how he gave himself over to it. It shook his entire body, causing ripples to wash over her as well. His moans and cries were harsh, almost guttural. Even as he filled her with his seed, he couldn't seem to stop. He thrust over and over until he lay completely spent on top of her, gasping.

When he was able to move, with effort he managed to roll off her so as not to stress her with his weight, and she saw his forehead was damp, and he smelled deliciously of Peter, only with an extra tang to it from his sweat. It wasn't unpleasant—it was like the sand and the sea, with the saltiness that went with it. _Arousing. Heady. Manly._

Peter buried his face in her neck and spoke bashfully. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… it was so… quick."

"I understand, Peter, and I was pretty sure that would happen. We have the rest of the night… please don't worry about it."

She got up, donning her blouse but leaving her pants off, and got them some iced tea.

"Oh! I forgot! I have something… in the Monkeemobile," said Peter as he began dressing in a hurry. He was back in no time, along with a large bouquet of flowers and a box of candy. When Leslie saw it, her heart nearly burst. The flowers had been left in the car in the warmth, and they were beginning to droop, but at least it wasn't the middle of summer, or they would be completely limp by now.

"I'm sorry, I forgot all about it until now."

"Peter, you're so sweet! Thank you—I love them! And we can share some of the candy now if you want."

"No, it's yours. I want you to enjoy it all by yourself. Well… maybe I'll eat _one piece_ with you," he had a scamp-ish look on his face. She laughed and went to put the flowers in a vase. He had picked an interesting mixture—fuchsias, daisies, marigolds and passion flowers.

"I thought these were pretty," said Peter, indicating the passion flowers. "And the lady said they were called passion flowers, so I thought maybe that… was a sign," he blushed, realizing he had revealed a little too much about his hopes for tonight. But Leslie smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

"Perfect choice," she said. They opened the box of chocolates, and commenced to try to guess what was in each one. Peter was pretty accurate. She could tell he liked chocolate nearly as much as he liked ice cream. They ended up eating at least five pieces each, and that on top of the White Russians gave them both a bit of a tummy ache. So they sat on the couch and nursed their sore stomachs and talked.

Leslie, with her head resting on his shoulder, told him how good he'd made her feel—what a wonderful lover he was becoming. He hung on every word, but then became strangely silent. She knew he had something on his mind from the faraway look on his face.

"Tell me, Peter. What is it you're thinking about?"

"You really want to know?" he asked after a pause.

"Yes."

"I was wondering… um… if… um… well, this is hard for me to say…" She waited patiently.

"I was wondering if… did I make you feel as good as Michael does?" he pushed the last few words out, as they were trying to stick in his throat. He was terrified of the answer, yet he felt he had to know.

She answered immediately. "Yes, Peter. And you gave me an orgasm too—something I never expected." Now _she _was embarrassed, but she knew she had to tell him, as she felt he was in need of all the confidence he could get.

"Speaking of Michael," she went on, "what am I going to do?"

Peter slowed his thoughts, concentrating on her mannerisms and body language. He should tread very carefully now. He knew where this conversation was headed.

"What do you _want_ to do?"

"I care for you both very much, but… what do you feel about me seeing Michael? I know how Michael feels, since he's told us… but I'm not sure about your feelings on the matter. I mean… most guys wouldn't… like the thought of another guy hanging around… well, me dating him—is that going to bother you?" This line of talk was really unsettling her.

Peter cleared his throat and picked his words carefully. "Well, you see, Michael is another story. He's not like… some guy off the street. He's in a class by himself. I _know_ him, and I don't have to worry about him hurting you. Are you curious about… jealousy?"

"Well, yes, a little. I've talked to Michael about it. Right now, it doesn't seem to be a huge obstacle where he's concerned, although I don't know if that might change. A person can say something with confidence, and then, when they are actually faced with it… it might be a different story."

Peter cupped his chin in his hands, flipping his hair out of his eyes unconsciously.

"I've never been in that situation, and I don't think Michael has either, so you could be right. He might wig out on us. But Michael's a wicked nice guy—it's more likely he'd come to you, or me, or both, and just tell us he couldn't hack it. He's a straight shooter. And if he didn't dig it, well… he met you first, and I'd have to respect that."

"And what about you and… jealousy?" she asked next.

The thought had haunted Peter more than he cared to admit. In the end, he just didn't really know_ how_ he felt about it. "I'm not sure…" he suddenly envisioned the scene of Leslie and Michael on the bed, bare to the waist, and how it had both horrified and aroused him at the same time.

"I guess I'd have to play it by ear… like I do my bass," he smiled shyly at her.

"Question for you now," Peter said. "How do _you_ feel about it?"

Leslie felt like falling to the floor and going into the fetal position. She'd been raised to believe it was _wrong_, everything in her screamed _wrong,_ yet somehow, at the same time, it felt right, but how could it be both?

"I'll be straight with you. I'm now sleeping with both of you, and… I've never been in that situation before either. I might have dated a lot of guys—too many, really, but at least I only slept with one at a time. With you and Michael, I'd be going into uncharted territory. It scares me to think of what could happen to any one of us."

"It scares me shitless too. Oops, sorry," Peter was apologizing for his language again.

"Peter! You don't have to be quite _that _careful about your language!" she laughed.

"I was taught to respect ladies and I don't want to offend you," he explained.

"Well, just as long as you don't go around saying obscene things in every paragraph… Peter, you really do need to loosen up with me. You can be yourself with me, and I already know you aren't the type to cuss constantly."

"Well, I do cuss around the Pad, when there's no girls there, but no one can cuss like Davy. Oh man…he's the king cusser. I've heard they cuss more freely in England, but some of his language almost makes _me _blush! It's funny how when a girl comes over, he turns it off… just like that. I don't know how he does it. You'd think that it would be a habit, and he'd mess up, but he never does. He becomes an instant Prince Charming, and stays that way until the girl leaves."

"_Davy _cusses?" Leslie tried her hardest to imagine the miniscule, ridiculously cute, cuddly-looking Englishman having a foul mouth, but she just couldn't.

"Oh, he's _dreadful,"_ Peter said in an English accent, which set Leslie to laughing.

Leslie was entranced with the way Peter described his roommates. He had some of the funniest stories and the most entertaining way of telling them.

"And you should see Micky try to do that Broadway crap kind of dancing Davy does. It's hysterical. And Michael just sits there and watches all of it, almost looking down his nose, and you wonder what he's thinking. I'm sure he thinks we're all off our rockers. But Michael isn't as graceful and balanced as the rest of us. He can't slide down the bannister," Peter announced as if that were significant.

"Well, what about that performance earlier with you and Breezy's water bowl tonight? That wasn't exactly graceful."

"Okay, so I do have my awkward moments. The thing is, though, Michael has a lot of dignity. Each of us has different things to offer besides our music. And I suppose Michael doesn't think sliding down bannisters is the most important talent in the world… or the most dignified."

Peter got up then and did an imitation of each of the other Monkees that had Leslie laughing her heart out. First was Micky. Peter screwed up his eyes to make them small and a little slanted, and began making funny faces and strange noises, running all over the living room with unsuppressed energy. Then he switched to Davy, pouring on the charm, all smiles and politeness, looking intently at his fingernails and making a little "oh!" sound. Finally he did Mike, behaving cool and calm, sauntering across the room while talking in a slow, exaggerated Texas drawl, and ended up standing with his hand on the end of the couch, tilting his hip as he surveyed his surroundings.

Leslie was doubled up by now, laughing so hard her sides ached.

Peter dropped down onto the couch with her again. They were becoming closer now, both physically and spiritually. She laid her head in his lap, still laughing. He leaned over and kissed her—all on his own, with no prompting. The kiss deepened, and Peter's breathing rate increased.

"Peter, are you getting excited again?" she said very softly, a hint of a tease in her voice.

"Oh yeah. I'm like that."

"Like what?"

"I get excited over and over, and not much time in between," he blushed furiously.

"Well then…" and Leslie snuggled close into his chest. Peter thought he'd have to put up with this throbbing ache he'd had since he'd brought the flowers in for the rest of the night. He didn't know if it was proper to make love more than once.

"We kind of got off the subject, didn't we?" she asked.

"Yeah, I guess we did. Speaking of that, there's something I wanted to bring up though, before it festers anymore," he said. "Otherwise it'll be on my mind, and I don't want that…"

Leslie perked up. As highly sexed as Peter seemed to be, this must be something important for him to interrupt a hot making out session.

"Yes, Peter?"

"Well… Leslie… I don't know what you'll think of this, and frankly, I'm afraid of your reaction… but I feel I have to… I_ need_ to talk to you. Something has happened between Michael and myself… that I think I should tell you about."


End file.
